


If I Go First, Sweetheart (I'll Wait, I Promise)

by LiNafied



Category: Red Velvet (K-pop Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-08
Updated: 2016-11-12
Packaged: 2018-07-13 20:43:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7136387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiNafied/pseuds/LiNafied
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even time could not deter the love that they had.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. After

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Somewhere In Time, instigated by Kara and Lex

“Congratulations, Wendy!”

 

Wendy shook the hand of yet another well dressed man, smiling politely as he raved on about the play he had just watched, most of his words praising the genius behind the script. His hand was still shaking Wendy’s vigorously, his excitement over such an unconventional musical pouring out exuberantly, forcing Wendy to bite down on her molars and bear with it, even though it felt like her shoulder was about to dislocate. After what seemed like forever, he released her numb hand from his grip, his teeth gleaming under the bright theater lights as he congratulated her again. 

 

Wendy waved towards his back as he walked off, her tired arm grateful for the end of that particularly straining encounter. 

 

“That was a very enthusiastic person.”

 

Wendy grinned at the sound of her manager/best friend’s voice, turning towards Seulgi with a mock pained expression, cradling her arm pitifully. The black haired woman played along easily, slapping her palms hard on both of Wendy’s cheeks and cooed, squeezing the redhead’s face for more effect.

 

“There, there, Seulgi will kiss it better.”

 

Wendy’s eyes widened in a panic when Seulgi puckered her lips, her face coming closer towards Wendy. Flailing, the redhead pulled back as hard as she could, the two friends’ foreheads knocking together loudly as Seulgi leant too far forward. Groaning in unison, they both started rubbing their foreheads, Seulgi grumbling about Wendy rejecting her love as she continued to soothe the already reddening spot. Wendy scowled and folded her arms, her lower lip jutting out in protest.

 

“Your love comes with a price!”

 

A slightly out of place canine popped over Seulgi’s grin and the manager raised a brow, moving her hand away to point off into the distance. 

 

“My love! We will reach for the stars together!”

 

Blushing furiously at the (extremely) bad acting and the bastardised version of the famous line in her play, Wendy rushed to push Seulgi’s hand down, the dark haired woman’s actions drawing unwanted attention from the upper class crowd around them. The older woman giggled unrepentantly, twisting the handhold into an arm loop, guiding Wendy away from the whispers of the crowd, nodding once as she finally brought up the reason she came for Wendy. 

 

“Anyways, before we were sidetracked, I was sent to retrieve you.”

 

Wendy furrowed her brow and adjusted the hold, pressing her shoulder against Seulgi’s arm.

 

“By whom?”

 

Seulgi laughed, head thrown back, her neckline beautiful under the glow of yellow lights, the ebony haired woman unusually joyous. 

 

(Considering the success of Wendy’s play, no one could blame her.)

 

“Your sponsors! You kind of have to thank them for believing in you, right?”

 

Wendy’s mouth twitched up into a crooked smile and she sighed, her other hand coming up to pat Seulgi’s forearm.

 

“Yes, I suppose so.”

 

*

 

Placing the empty glass onto the tray the waiter was holding out to her graciously, it was all Wendy could do to stumble away from the group of sponsors without her face meeting the ground, the redhead’s face matching the colour of her hair. She excused herself, words coming out in a slur but barely anyone noticed, all too high from the combination of a investment coming to fruition and good alcohol. Moving through the still celebratory crowd, Wendy managed to exit the stuffy room through a pair of oak doors, the fresh breeze on the balcony cooling her heated face down. 

 

She leant against the railing, her mouth curling into a smile as she thought back towards the end of the play earlier, recalling the way her chest had swelled when the cast bowed hand in hand, the thunderous applause of an appreciative audience ringing in her ears. 

 

After years of dreaming, Wendy was finally living her dreams. 

 

She stood there, breathing in the fresh air and basking in the glow of her success silently, her eyes slipping shut as the sounds of the night soothed her frayed nerves.

 

It was then Wendy nearly jumped out of her skin when a voice rang out, husky and soft, a foreigner calling her name. 

 

“Wendy.”

 

Patting her chest in hopes of calming her racing heart, Wendy turned around, eyes widening at the sight of the elderly woman in front of her. 

 

Barely getting over her surprise, Wendy took a look at the intruder. Wendy could see that the lady was a beauty in her time, a beauty that aged along with her, giving her a graceful, timeless look.

 

A look that was marred slightly by the obvious signs of illness and weakness. 

 

Heart calm but aching at the sight of the woman shivering in the cold, Wendy reached out gently, the kind woman wanting nothing more than to guide the old lady back into the warmth.

 

“Madam, let’s go in-”

 

The elderly patron grasped her wrist tightly, eyes wide and desperate as she rasped quickly. 

 

“Wendy, do you remember?”

 

Utterly confused, Wendy shook her head, fingers brushing past the grey haired woman’s surprisingly strong clutch. 

 

“I’m sorry?”

 

The silver haired lady let out a breath of a sob, pressing an ancient timepiece into the palm of her hand before letting go, her words coming out quietly, pain lacing every syllable. 

 

“Come back to me.”

 

(Wendy could almost see the old lady’s heart in pieces in front of her.)

 

She turned away as soon as she said that, Wendy barely even having the time to inquire about the pocketwatch or the meaning  behind vague words. 

 

“Wait, Madam-”

 

And as quickly as she appeared, the elderly woman disappeared behind oak doors, leaving Wendy bewildered, fingers grasping the golden, ticking timepiece. 

 

It was there Seulgi found her, her manager hiccuping and giggly from the alcohol but still concerned over her charge practically turning into an icicle on the balcony.

 

“Wendy, is everything alright?”

 

She snapped out of her trance, pocketing the watch into the slip of her dress and nodded. 

 

“Yes, I’m fine.”

 

Though suspicious but ultimately too drunk to do anything about it, Seulgi grabbed her shoulders and pulled her back into the party, exclaiming loudly as she followed. 

 

“Then let’s continue to celebrate!”

 

*

 

It was until the next day that Wendy opened the newspapers and saw the obituary that she finally checked the pocketwatch out, once again stumped by the sight she was greeted. 

 

In bold letters and a picture that boasted of the elderly woman’s younger years, Wendy stared at the obituary, the image of the young lady burning into her mind.

 

**In loving memory of Irene Bae, for which the world is poorer from the loss of such a wonderful person.**

 

Wendy slumped into her chair, the final words of the old lady playing in her mind, fingers rubbing against the engraving she had found in the watch. 

 

_ Wendy + Irene, a love that transcended time.  _

 


	2. First Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So here she was, standing in front of the hotel like the idiot that she is, just wondering how exactly a fancy place like this was supposed to jolt her creative juices.

_ It’s not you, it’s me. _

 

Wendy kicked a loose pebble on the pavement, her backpack heavy on her shoulders. She watched the grey object roll away from her as she walked aimlessly, her girlfriend’s (or is it ex-girlfriend now?) words play in her head, a repetition of excuses that all spoke of one thing. 

 

_ I think it’s best if the both of us just took a break _ . 

 

Wendy was a world renowned playwright. Her stories came to life on the stage and made people weep, her words flowing off demure white paper like a rainbow peeking behind a shower of rain and into the hearts of the audiences, the actors and actresses mere puppets in her design. Even when speaking, Wendy can weave tales of love and heartbreak with endings of captured hearts and love filled dreams. 

 

But when her girlfriend spoke those words to her, Wendy, the woman who was born to speak and write beautiful things, the woman who spun tales of happiness and beauty, was at a loss for words. 

 

(It has been three months since then.)

 

And because she was the woman who wrote about the beauty of the world and how the sun rose and set upon white porcelain skin, with eyes that were like a kaleidoscope of colours, Wendy was still very affected by it. Her loss for words when her girlfriend stood up and left her alone in the cafe followed her throughout the break, her paper still white perfection, her pen, once her best friend, now her worst enemy, causing Wendy to face what has to be the worst writer’s block in history. 

 

Wendy sighed and continued down the pathway, the leaves scrunching under her boots, as a majestic white building finally came into view. Tilting her chin upwards, the redhead eyed the hotel critically, a place recommended highly by Seulgi due to its timeless design and the history behind the place. 

 

_ “It’ll definitely jump start your muse and kick your arse into gear!” _

 

Seulgi had almost punched her in the face when she admitted she did not have anything new to give to the willful manager, especially after knowing her ex-girlfriend was the cause of it. 

 

It took a lot of shouting and running around for Seulgi to finally give out the hotel’s name, with a heavy implication that Wendy find her head again.

 

Or she’d knock it off for her.

 

(Seulgi never did like her ex-girlfriend.)

 

So here she was, standing in front of the hotel like the idiot that she is, just wondering how exactly a fancy place like this was supposed to jolt her creative juices. Sighing yet again, she walked through the golden doors, held open by a friendly doorman, the staff greeting her cordially as she made her way to the reception. Tugging her sleeves over the palms of her hands, Wendy placed her arms on the counter and waited for the receptionist to notice her, her mouth pulling into an automatic smile when the lady came to her. 

 

“Hi, welcome! What can I do for you today?”

 

Wendy pulled out her identification card and slid it across the desk.

 

“I’m here to check in? I have a reservation under Wendy Son.”

 

The woman took the ID and started tapping away on her computer. Wendy leant against the counter, humming along to the music playing softly in the background, some classical piece that suited the majestic lobby to a tee. She got through about two bars when the lady called for her name softly, the receptionist’s eyes still trained on the computer screen even as she slid the card towards Wendy. 

 

“Wendy Son, for three nights, four days stay?”

 

Wendy nodded, keeping the smile on her face, even though she felt like whipping out her phone and calling Seulgi.

 

(Four days. In a hotel. With nothing to do.

 

If anything, this will kill her creativity even more than it was already dead.)

 

The lady continued tapping away, the whirring of the printer sounding once she clicked the mouse for the final time. Wendy waited patiently for her to grab the receipt and the little booklet where her keycard and her vouchers were sure to be found, those items granted quickly and efficiently. She flipped open the booklet and placed it by the piece of paper, explaining methodically, pointing out the parts where Wendy had to sign.

 

“The bottles of water are complimetary but anything in the bar will be charged to your credit card. Your deposit will be returned at the end of the stay; unless there’s damage done to the room which then will be deducted accordingly. You have two keycards, please inform us if one is missing, we’ll change the code and give you new ones.”

 

Wendy nodded along with the explanation, picking up the pen to sign once the lady was done. 

 

“If you understood and accept all the terms, please sign here.”

 

Looping gracefully, Wendy signed on the dotted line as requested, accepting the booklet and her copy of the receipt once she was done. Bowing slightly in thanks, Wendy made to move, only to have the receptionist call her back, the woman gesturing to the side of the lobby.

 

“Oh, Miss Son! If you have the time, maybe you’d like to check out our museum exhibit? It will be showing until the end of the month.”

 

Wendy peered over curiously, eyes lighting up when she saw the sign.

 

“It’s about the history of plays?”

 

Nodding, the receptionist elaborated further.

 

“And about the famous actors and actresses through time. Maybe you will find it invigorating?”

 

Wendy bowed again, her smile widening into a grin as she walked away, finally understanding Seulgi’s insistence of her presence in this hotel.

 

(If the people she looked up to couldn’t stimulate her brain, then there was no hope left for her.

 

Wendy can only hope that a love broken did not leave such a mark on her.)

 

*

 

Wendy stood in front of the huge display, eyes darting up and down as she took in the majesty of the blueprint, detailing out the oldest theatre known to man. The paper looked worn, the drawings faded, but it was still as clear to Wendy as it was printed on a laser printer, the scarlet haired woman comparing the designs to the real thing, having visited it once upon a time. 

 

(When she had time to herself and was not in constant demand.

 

Maybe that was why her girlfriend...

 

No. No thinking about that.)

 

Wendy read the plague by the display, words muttered softly and kept in a corner of her brain, the organ finally sputtering to life as Wendy went back to the one thing that always welcomed her with open arms. Nodding to herself, Wendy jotted down some notes on her notebook, moving away to the next display. Gasping in delight at the sight of the quill used by a famous writer, it was all Wendy could do to not drool on the glass case, a part of her wanting nothing more than to caress the stiff feather plume and the blackened tip, if only to absorb traces of the owner’s genius. 

 

Struck by an idea, Wendy began writing furiously on the book, pressing down on the nib of her pen a little too hard as she scribbled, pen ink dribbling across the page and onto her hands. She ignored it, even when her vision started swimming (probably from the intense concentration) intent on getting the idea down lest it ran away. Finally looking up once the final period was dotted, Wendy was struck by a bout of lightheadedness, sudden and scary but altogether welcoming for the young writer.

 

(She hasn’t been this inspired since the breakup.

 

She really,  _ really _ needed to send Seulgi a bouquet of flowers.)

 

Rubbing her stained hand against an empty page, Wendy moved on to the next section, her smile straining her cheeks as the actors and actresses of the old stared down at her. They were all painted to their highest form, gods and goddesses in their own right, as they had commanded the stage and pulled laughter, tears and love from their adored audiences. They were all haughty looking but with an smudge of human-like qualities, Wendy feeling less intimidated than she would’ve been if it was just them being graceful.

 

(Painters, like writers, were artisans as well, careful brush strokes making out pictures that writers weaved through words.)

 

Wendy wandered around the exhibit, the paintings giving her a slight idea on how her characters were going to be along with the general visual. She jotted them down once again, blue ink turning a curious purple the more she wrote, the middle of her skull pounding the more she used her brain. 

 

But Wendy continued her journey, happy to be leaving behind the broken pieces of herself that no one had bothered to pick up, the pieces who had blocked the part of herself that made Wendy who she was today. Those pieces were now in a box, stuffed in a corner of her mind where dark things came to play, never to see the light of day again. 

 

She should’ve listened to Seulgi sooner. 

 

Theatre, writing, her first true loves, these were the ones who would never break her. 

 

She stopped by a painting of a woman, struck by the feeling of familiarity the longer she stared at it. The sloping jawline, the high nose, those red lips; she had seen those before, though not quite like that. Moving towards the plague beneath the painting, Wendy started to read carefully, frowning when the answer did not come to her. She stood there for a moment, re-reading the tiny excerpt of the actress’ life when her mind jolted violently, Wendy gasping when she realised why the woman was familiar.

 

_ Irene Bae, 20th century theatrical actress. Considered to be a young genius in her time. _

 

Irene Bae.

 

She knew that name, has seen it a number of times over the years, that name engraved in her mind as surely as her love for writing and the stage. 

 

Irene Bae.

 

Also that old lady who had given her a pocketwatch, her name and Wendy’s embossed together with an ampersand. 

 

Wendy snapped her notebook close, writing temporarily deterred as she hurried out of the exhibit, intent on finding someone or a computer, anything that would tell her more about Irene Bae, more than an obituary that prickled at her mind, more than an old timepiece that confused her. She almost knocked into a statue in her haste, her ink stained hands smudging the side of it lightly but Wendy could hardly pay any attention, that much was her curiosity. 

 

As she left, the eyes of the painting seemed to follow her, forlornly, sadly, wanting and open.

 

(Why?)

 

*

 

“ _ So did you like it? _ ”

 

Wendy did not have to see Seulgi’s face to know that her manager was smirking proudly, chest puffed at the thought of being able to shove Wendy out of her self imposed writer’s block. Answering distractedly, Wendy flipped her notebook open and scanned through her notes, delicate fingers thumbing through the pages as to not smear the ink. 

 

“Yes, there were a lot of interesting things. Thank you for that.”

 

Seulgi crowed happily, the sound crackling through the earpiece and she continued on, her tone dropping slightly as though she was telling a secret.

 

“And did you finally shove  _ her _ in a box somewhere in your mind?”

 

Wendy was so distracted that she did not register the person Seulgi was talking about, merely shooting back a generic question.

 

“Who?”

 

Seulgi chuckled.

 

“Well, that answers my question.”

 

Wendy hummed in reply, stopping at the page where she had scribbled down the woman in the painting’s details. She set the notebook aside and reached over for her laptop, a huge, clunky, black object that weighed almost as much as Wendy and worked slower than a turtle, but something Wendy was unable to part with as she felt that most of her creative process began and ended with the laptop. Starting the ancient technology up, Wendy tuned back into her conversation with Seulgi, catching the tail end of her question.

 

“-script by the end of the month then?”

 

Wendy blinked once and glanced over at her notebook, scrawled, messy writing filling the pages, only one of which she was only interested in. Still, she gave her agreement, somewhat confident in her ability to multitask.

 

“It would be manageable. But it’s going to be a rough draft. You know how it is with the edits.”

 

Seulgi chuckled again, the manager happier than the last time Wendy had talked to her.

 

(To be fair, the last time they spoke, Wendy had only been able to weave words about her grief over the broken pieces of her relationship that she thought would last.

 

Seulgi had smacked her on the head before sending her off on this trip.)

 

“As long as we have something to show. Can’t let  _ art  _ leave you behind.”

 

Seulgi’s snide tone did not escape Wendy’s ears and it was all the writer could do not to burst out laughing, knowing exactly why the older woman was so bitter. 

 

(It had something to do with a new scriptwriter, a penchant for eight legged sea creatures and an insatiable thirst for intercourse of the disturbing variety.

 

Safe to say, Seulgi was extremely appalled at the besmirch upon the fine community.

 

Too bad the critics swallowed it all up, theatrics and all.)

 

“I’ll make sure the critics know what true art is, Seulgi.”

 

Her computer finally sputtered to life and Wendy’s attention snapped to it, the redhead tapping at the keyboard quickly, nodding and saying her goodbyes distractedly to a twittering Seulgi, no longer interested in the topic. 

 

“Remember, end of the month!”

 

“Got it. Bye.”

 

It took a while for the internet to connect due to the speed of her laptop but when it finally did, Wendy immediately got down to business, bypassing what she was supposed to be doing (coming up with her first draft) and to the part that interested her. Typing in Irene Bae’s name, Wendy waited for another stretch of time, of which she spent almost gnawing her cuticles down to almost nothing, before the searches finally popped up. Clicking on the first link, Wendy switched screens to pull up her Celtx, blinking cursor greeting her before she switched back. 

 

The page, fortunately, had loaded and Wendy shifted into a more comfortable position, eyes flickering up and down the page as she started to read about the mysterious decorated actress.

 

By the time she decided to call it a night, her notebook was filled with facts about Irene Bae, her Celtx document conspicuously empty.

 

*

 

As the days passed, Wendy’s script continued to be blank even as her notes on Irene Bae continued to mount, a clear indication of her sudden obsession with the actress. The fact that she had, as an old lady, came to find Wendy and whispered those (confusing) words, had Wendy’s curiosity spiking, her visage and the way she looked at Wendy (like a masterpiece she had lost, a sunrise she would never see again) fueling her desire to learn more. The deeper she searched, the more confused she got, as contradictory accounts surfaced, each detailing about Irene Bae differently.

 

(One said she had a lover, kept in the shadows until the day they got married. Another said she died an unhappy woman, surrounded by children who loved her and a husband she did not love. 

 

One said that she was pining for a lost love, a love she never got to hold before jumping into a whirlwind marriage. Another said that she got married because she got too lonely.)

 

And because Wendy was someone who could not let something go, she found herself on the doorstep of Irene’s former housekeeper, a spry old lady who had sounded confused, though happy, that someone was asking about Irene. 

 

Before she could knock, the door opened slowly, an old lady shuffling out, body brittle but her eyes bright and lively, speaking of a sort of sharpness thought to be lost amongst the elderly. The woman smiled and lowered her head politely, her question coming out more as a statement than a question.

 

“You must be Miss Son? Please come in.”

 

Wendy walked past the threshold and into the house, eyes widening at the sight of the slick wood and panelling, grand in a way that only the older homes could boast about. Though she knew the old lady had continued living in the house that Irene lived in, even after her death, her awe had her jaw-slacked, the magnificence of such design not lost on her. A chuckle erupted behind her and Wendy closed her mouth hurriedly, lowering her head in apology for her behaviour.

 

“I’m so sorry-”

 

The grey haired woman waved her off with a limp hand, ushering Wendy to what must be a tea room.

 

(A tea room.

 

They had a tea room.)

 

“Don’t worry about it. This house was designed solely to baffle Irene’s visitors.”

 

Wendy did not miss the fond way the lady had spoke of her late employer’s name.

 

“It definitely baffled me, Miss.”

 

Again, the old woman waved her off, almost pushing Wendy into a comfy armchair as she bustled around with refreshments.

 

“Please. Call me Yeri.”

 

Wendy took the teacup handed to her slowly.

 

“Okay. Yeri.”

 

It felt weird, calling an elder by their first name, Wendy’s manners already beating her upside down at the mention of it. 

 

But it was not as weird as the look that Yeri was giving her, glinting and knowing, as though she was familiar with Wendy.

 

(It was also uncomfortable.)

 

Wendy shook the feeling away, taking a small sip of her tea before launching into the real reason why she traipsed across the city for this visit.

 

“So, Yeri, I’m here to learn about-”

 

Yeri cut her off with a bemused smile, the silver haired woman putting her cup down daintily.

 

“Yes, yes, about Irene. But first, let me show you something.”

 

Wendy was left gaping as the frail woman shot off her chair and towards the fireplace, fingers that spoke of hard work lifting up a beautiful ornament box from the top of it. Yeri shuffled back quickly and placed the box on the table, a slight smile playing on chapped lips.

 

“This is a music box made by the late Irene. She treasured it more than anything in the world. I think you’ll find it just as interesting as you would the answers to your questions.”

 

Wendy nodded slowly, not exactly sure how a music box would trump the answers to her many questions, but decided to play along.

 

(How would anything be more than the explanation of the pocketwatch resting by her breastbone, somehow just at the thumping of her heart or the mysterious words left behind just before Irene’s death? 

 

How would anything be more than the dreams she had been having, of soft smiles and softer greetings?)

 

Yeri started winding the object up, flipping over the cover to reveal an intricate design of a flower with writing Wendy could not decipher. Music started to play as the gears turned, Yeri tapping the box fondly as she spoke.

 

“It has her favourite piece of composition of course, by Claude Debussy-”

 

“Claire De Lune.”

 

Yeri looked somewhat surprised at the comment, her eyebrow raising in question, Wendy shifting back slightly at her rapid fire question.

 

“How ever did you know that?”

 

(Perhaps Yeri thought that Wendy was one of  _ those _ people, no appreciation for classical music.)

 

Wendy scratched the nape of her neck and answered softly.

 

“It’s my favourite classical piece as well.”

 

Something flickered behind brown eyes and Yeri snapped the box close, a cheerful grin on her lips as she pushed the box over to Wendy. 

 

“Then you should have this.”

 

The scarlet haired woman immediately began protesting.

 

“I couldn’t- It’s merely a coincidence - It is a treasure to you-”

 

Yeri waved them away with a flick of her hand.

 

“Nonsense. You should have this. I know for a fact that Irene would have wanted someone who would appreciate it to have it.”

 

Stunned into silence by both Yeri’s words and the knowing smile playing on the old woman’s lips, Wendy could only stare as Yeri pushed the music box into her hands. Wendy’s fingers molded around the smooth panelling like old friends meeting together, the feeling of the wood somehow comforting beneath her skin, her heart speeding up as the weight of it became comfortable. Though confused by the foreign emotion, Wendy stammered her thanks, her grip on the box tightening even as she bowed.

 

“T-thank you then.”

 

(Why? 

 

Why did she have such an affinity for an object that she has never seen before in her life?)

 

Yeri nodded, taking a long draught of her drink before launching into her next tirade.

 

It was all Wendy could do to just keep up with her, the redhead overwhelmed by the information as well as the personal insight to a person who had caught her interest. 

 

(On her lap, unbeknownst to her, the gears of the music box slowed but never stopped, matching the gentle beat of her heart.)

 

*

 

Wendy went through Irene’s personal effects silently, privately in her own apartment, piled upon her by an overenthusiastic Yeri who had wanted to help when Wendy said that her interest in Irene was to feature her in a future play. Though thankful, Wendy felt slightly weirded out by the fact she was combing through a dead woman’s artifacts, some trinkets, others effects held close to the heart. 

 

(It felt as though she was invading Irene’s privacy.)

 

But that feeling soon gave way as Wendy’s obsession took over, wanting nothing more than to understand why Irene had given her the pocketwatch, why her name was in it and why those words were uttered.

 

Like a crazed woman, Wendy locked herself in the apartment, cut off from the world as she shifted through Irene’s life, feverishly looking for a clue in between neatly kept diaries and books Irene favoured. 

 

It was only when Seulgi had called again that Wendy emerged from her Irene induced haze, her manager chirping away a reminder for the script submission.

 

“It’s due in a week’s time, alright?”

 

Wendy answered with a frown, her attention frayed as she finally found what she was looking for in an old book, thumbed through and falling apart, with the scribbles of her name in the margins. 

 

“Alright, Seulgi.”

 

Flipping through the book, Wendy discovered that it was about time travelling and the possibility of it happening throughout history, science and fiction mixed together in mixed harmony. 

 

But all these did not capture Wendy’s attention like the small note at the end did, small and cursive, Irene’s handwriting standing out even though it was faded.

 

_ Did Wendy really travel all the way here just to meet me? And if she did, why did she leave? _

 

Wendy blinked, somehow even more confused as more questions plagued her, the questions at the end doing nothing to qualm Wendy’s suspicions.

 

_ Was time travel really possible _ ?

 

_ Was the Wendy Irene talked about her? _

 

(And without even knowing, she was falling deeper into the mystery and complexity of Irene Bae.)

 


	3. First Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And it was the hope of finally meeting Irene that drove her to do what she did right now, her adventure taking her back to the hotel that had united them in the first place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by Somewhere In Time, instigated by Kara and Lex

 

“Wendy, this is...”

 

Seulgi trailed off solemnly, leaving Wendy to raise her head from the book she was perusing slowly, the redhead suddenly very aware that her manager was not praising or critiquing her like she always would, lack of filter and everything. Placing her book aside ( _ Time Travelling; Is It Possible? _ ), Wendy unfolded her legs from beneath her to lean forward, arms braced on her knee as she questioned her silent manager.

 

“This is  _ what _ , Seulgi?”

 

The ebony haired woman ran her fingers through her hair, catching on a knot mindlessly as she continued to flip through the draft singlehandedly. Wendy bit her lip, eyes travelling over to her messy table where scores of papers littered the top, her laptop’s screen still bright as the cursor blinked at the end of the page, the draft hurriedly done just hours before Seulgi had come to collect it. Her heart jumped to her throat at the thought of Seulgi recognising sloppy work.

 

(Though in her opinion, this was the best thing she has ever written.

 

How can it not be, when her muse was Irene?)

 

Seulgi snapped the booklet shut, long fingers sprawled across the front. She let out a breath and then a wide grin decorated her face.

 

“This is one of the best things you’ve come up with! Time travelling and star crossed lovers? Where do you come up with these things?”

 

Wendy shrugged sheepishly, a hand on her neck as she scratched her nape. She looked towards her book again, its contents almost memorised in her burning desire to know what Irene had been thinking about time travel and tilted her head to the right, a small smile playing on her lips. She answered the question coquettishly, wanting nothing more than to be left alone with Irene’s things and thoughts. 

 

“Maybe it was the trip. The museum was filled with many, many stories, all yet to be told.”

 

Seulgi waved the stack of papers in her hand, her eyes disappearing with the amount of happiness her smile was bringing forth.

 

“And I will bring you to more places with stories if this is what you will churn out! Masterpieces that will show the world that true art does not require nudity!”

 

Wendy laughed along with the black haired manager, nodding along to her (repeated) rant about the writers these days and the lack of respect for art in the industry, all while slowly counting down the seconds to Seulgi leaving. 

 

It was only when Seulgi had praised her for the tenth time about the masterpiece she was currently holding that the manager left, a promise of a new play up and running in the next month or so leaving her lips as she exited through the door, arm raised as she waved the stack of papers at the redhead. Wendy waved goodbye lifelessly. Once the door clicked shut, her attention was once again on the book she had been reading, fingers ruffling through the pages like old lovers coming together again. 

 

She found the small notes that Irene made at sporadic moments in the book easily. They were beautiful and small, letters looping together to form their own dance even if the content were mildly morbid.

 

( _ Would time travelling affect health? _

 

_ Is that why Wendy had to go back? _

 

_ Would I be able to go to where Wendy is? _

 

_ What if... I went to the future and it was a future where Wendy no longer exist? _ )

 

There were also other notes, scratched out scribbles and blotted messes, a contrast to the neat, orderly writings of Irene. They were hard to make out, smudged and worn by time but Wendy was almost certain that they pertain to time travelling, a scientist experimenting with a theory that was never proven. 

 

She continued to go through the book, taking in the words that she has already imprinted on her heart once again.

 

And knowing that merely reading about it will never be enough.

 

Just like how letters, diaries, mementos of Irene will never be enough.

 

(And with that, Wendy made up her mind.)

 

*

 

Wendy coughed again when the wind blew harshly at her small frame, her winter coat doing absolutely nothing to block out the frigid fingers of Jack Frost. Rubbing at her arms, Wendy continued to plod her way up the sidewalk, coughs still escaping from behind gritted teeth, the force hard enough to start a throbbing pain between her eyes, a fairly unpleasant feeling and completely unwelcomed as she was making her way through icy roads. 

 

She shook her head lightly to get rid of the sensation.

 

Her journey continued with little fanfare, just a young woman wandering down a quiet cul-de-sac. Her eyes darted from postbox to postbox, silently mouthing the numbers as she continued to look for the one she wanted, paying no heed to the breezy day, the sun peeking out from above the trees, dusking orange wrapping around the fluttering brown like a present. Her hand fluttered down to her messenger bag, absentmindedly patting against it as though making sure that the book was secure within its confines, fingernail beds hueing blue from the cold. 

 

“Sixty-eight...seventy...seventy-two- Aha! This is the one-”

 

She had barely finished her sentence when a muted boom exited from the house she was standing in front of. Startled, Wendy jumped backwards, her heel sinking into the soft ground and she lost her balance, red hair whipping in the air as she whirled her arms around to keep herself upright. Barely succeeding, Wendy stomped on her other foot heavily, her ankle cracking loudly at the pressure. Swallowing the swear that was bubbling at the tip of tongue, Wendy grabbed the first thing that passed her vision, her fingers clamping down on a dusty railing, a blackish sort of oil staining her palm, not quite unlike the ink that stained her hands. 

 

Breathing in deeply, the redhead shook her hair away from her face, the headache from before returning with a vengeance and throbbing at her temples. Wendy adjusted herself, pulling her heel out from its grounded position and stood carefully on both feet, swaying slightly from her near fall. Once sure she was able to walk like a normal person, Wendy made her way carefully towards the door, stained hand grabbing the rope positioned where a doorbell would be and tugged on it. 

 

A weird clicking sound replaced the ringing bell, Wendy letting go of the rope in shock. The rope, though already dirty, was stained the same black that decorated her hand, her mark clear on the frayed material. Flustered, Wendy reached out to rub it away when the door opened. A middle aged woman wearing wide set goggles with her messy hair tied back in a bun greeted her, large eyes made comically bugged out blinking owlishly at her from behind plastic. 

 

“Hi, are you Dr Joy Park?”

 

The woman blinked before scowling, not even gracing Wendy with an answer. Not one to be deterred, Wendy stuck her hand out, fingers straight and thumb aligned with her wrist to portray a strong handshake position.

 

“I’m Wendy. I had some questions about your book?”

 

The presumed doctor glanced down at her hand, not answering yet again. Wendy followed her line of sight and realised belatedly that it was the stained hand she was offering. Pulling it back in embarrassment, Wendy tried switching hands when Dr Park grabbed her wrist, the scientist looking over her palm curiously before exclaiming loudly. 

 

“Is this... the mark of the chosen one?”

 

Wendy’s eyes widened when the good doctor tugged her into the house, the blonde cackling away madly as she forcefully led the maroon haired woman through  a messy terrain. 

 

Nearly tripping over a wayward book, Wendy struggled to keep up with the pace Joy was walking. The scientist did not seem to care that Wendy was kicking and stumbling over books, cushions and whatnot in her trek, merely laughing creepily as they went from room to room. 

 

Finally, her life threatening journey ended as Dr Park deposited her on a fairly empty sofa, waving her hand at Wendy when the writer opened mouth to speak. 

 

“Coffee or tea?”

 

Completely baffled, Wendy spluttered an answer before realising that was not what she had wanted to say.

 

“Coffee- Wait, what did you mean about a chosen one?”

 

The yellow haired woman chuckled, haphazardly pulling out packets of coffee from a pot just laying about.

 

“Oh, that. I was just pulling your leg.”

 

Mouth dropping open, Wendy could only stare as the doctor bustled about to make the drinks, going against physics and laws of nature as she pulled out a kettle, jugs of water from the oddest of places. As she moved about, Joy questioned Wendy over her shoulder, jolting the playwright out of her shock.

 

“So you have some questions for me?”

 

Fumbling with her bag, Wendy extracted the book out with some difficulty (caused by fingers trembling with excitement) and started to flip through the pages.

 

(It was finally happening.)

 

“I just had several questions about this section. You mentioned that you managed to travel back in time, but only for a little while.”

 

Joy hummed, her mouth pursed in concentration as she measured out the steaming water.

 

“Why the sudden interest?”

 

Wendy fell silent as she contemplated how much she should reveal, an odd sort of jealousy flaring in her stomach at the thought of sharing the presence of Irene with the good doctor.

 

Nevertheless, she haltingly started explaining, trimming away the story she has been collecting in the back of her mind (and deep within the confines of her heart) to make it sound less like an obsession and more of a scholarly interest.

 

“I found this book among possessions left behind to me... and in here, if the writings aren’t a prank, it would seem that I managed to travel back in time to the early twentieth century. And met this woman who eventually gave the book to me.”

 

The cups were abandoned almost immediately after the last word left Wendy’s lips, Dr Park stretching both arms and making a grabby motion towards the book. With extreme reluctance, Wendy handed over the book. 

 

(She might be exaggerating slightly but it felt like a part of her was ripped away, a fraction of her soul clinging onto the book like a lifeline.)

 

Joy flipped through the book leisurely, going through the same motions Wendy did but not as feverishly. Her eyebrows raised almost to her hairline as she took in the scribbles at the edges of the book, yellow pages decorated with black and blue. Wendy followed her hand motions carefully and could almost tell which particular passages the scientist was reading, her fingers twitching in her lap. 

 

(A very strong urge to pull the book away rose in her chest.

 

It overlapped the feeling of Joy caressing a lover she would never know.)

 

The blonde nodded and handed the book back to Wendy, gentle as though she knew how precious the item meant to the scarlet haired woman. 

 

“Though it sounded like a dream and the writings are at best just circumstantial proof - yet, there’s something that rings true about them.”

 

Wendy gripped the edges of the book tightly as Joy continued to speak.

 

“You’re interested in travelling back in time?”

 

Wendy nodded, her eyes bright. Her back shot straight and she leant forward eagerly, finally getting to the point she was waiting for.

 

“You said you managed to do it but only for a while. How - I mean you explained - but I didn’t really get it.”

 

Joy tapped her chin and moved about before planting her behind on an available one seater. She looked deep in thought, her previous cheeky actions gone as she continued to contemplate. Wendy held her breath, fearing that even the slightest sound would break apart Joy’s concentration. 

 

Finally, just as Wendy was feeling lightheaded from the lack of oxygen, Joy spoke up, serious and quiet, fingers laced together under her chin. 

 

“While the theory is right, I can only say I  _ believe  _ that I travelled back in time.”

 

Hearing her world screech on it axis, Wendy let out the breath she was holding to ask.

 

(Desperately.

 

Hopelessly.

 

_ Believe? _ )

 

“What do you mean?”

 

Joy scratched her chin, her eyelids fluttering shut. The older woman sighed and she turned her head towards the fireplace, worn and unused, with papers scattered all over.

 

“There is no machine - No technology that took me back in time. What I did was harness the power of will.”

 

“Power of will?”

 

Wendy almost fell forward in her attempt to get closer, her urgency blurring away self-perseverance.

 

“Yes. It’s like hypnosis. I suggested to myself that I was in another time, an older time and when I opened my eyes, I was there.”

 

Joy nodded to herself, as though convincing her scientific mind that it was a legitimate conclusion. 

 

Wendy, desperate and wanting, pushed for more, her fingers splayed white against a book that had been her bible for the past few weeks.

 

“But it was real?”

 

Joy cleared her throat, her attention coming back towards Wendy.

 

“It  _ felt _ real. And oddly enough...”

 

The older blonde trailed off, as though unsure if she should continue, a war happening behind clever brown eyes. 

 

However, Wendy had no time for coyness, only wanting to grasp a reality where she would be able to see Irene for real.

 

“Oddly enough?”

 

Something in her tone must have set Joy off because the scientist’s right eyebrow raised slightly, the older woman suddenly looking at Wendy as though she was an interesting experiment.

 

“Oddly enough, when I came back to the  _ now _ , I was holding something from the past.”

 

(Her world started turning again.)

 

As though taking a breath of air after spending almost an eternity under frozen water, Wendy felt the tension leave her back, her desperation turning into eagerness as she continued to pick at Joy’s brain.

 

“Doesn’t that mean that it is real?”

 

Joy blinked, an amused glint flashing past deep pools of chocolate.

 

“It would definitely  _ suggest _ so. But I’ve never been able to recreate the results and as such, this remained a theory.”

 

Heart feeling lighter, Wendy hugged the book to her chest, a smile gracing pouty lips even as she coughed roughly.

 

“And it is quite a dangerous process. I was only gone for about an hour but I was left bedridden for almost a week. And...”

 

The scientist trailed off again, a critical eye scanning Wendy up and down.

 

“If you’re even _ less _ than physically fit, it might leave you with one foot through death’s door.”

 

Wendy filed that away at the back of her mind.

 

(Where regrets went into boxes, along with the memories of an ex-girlfriend she thought she loved.)

 

“But what is the process like? How does one go back in time by laying there?”

 

Joy chuckled, question playing on her lips but answers dropping off her tongue like honey on a stick.

 

(Delightful, sweet words that built Wendy’s dream world up piece by piece.)

 

“It’s actually quite simple. First, you have to remove all things that are related to the current time -  _ meaning the now _ . And then the next part is to trick your mind into believing that you’re in the past.”

 

Wendy coughed again, waving away Joy’s gaze as she tried to bring the cold induced cough back under control.

 

The blonde gave her a look but resumed her explanation.

 

“Usually, that meant dressing the part, studying about the era you want to go, maybe even imagine yourself there.”

 

Wendy hacked out what seemed to be a ball of air from her throat.

 

“A-and then?”

 

Joy pursed her lips.

 

“This is the hard part. Either you have a strong enough will to send you back or... you’ll fail miserably.”

 

*

 

_ First, she had to look the part.  _

 

Wendy replayed Joy’s words in her head over and over again, absentmindedly walking around town.

 

(The warning was sealed in the part of her mind she doesn’t go to, the part of her mind where failed scripts and terrible words were locked up in.)

 

Her feet stopped just in front of a tailor shop, the suits there quirky enough to suggest they were handmade.

 

And enough to suggest that they might be able to jump start Wendy’s plan to time travel.

 

She hurried into the store, startling the shop’s assistant with her request to make a suit that was time appropriate to the early 20th century. Though confused, the store gladly accepted her request, the call for monetary profit louder than the curiousity of a small woman requesting for one. 

 

Though if they had asked, Wendy would’ve gladly told them.

 

After all, a tale of love sought was never one that should be kept silent.

 

These stories should be shared, lighting up the candle of hope in everyone’s heart, and assuring them that somewhere, out there, there are people finding love.

 

And that one day, it would be their turn too.

 

It was this same adventure for love (an obsession) that led Wendy to a hair stylist, both her and the stylist surprised over her request to cut her long hair. 

 

(Though nothing could really be done about the colour.)

 

It was her  _ obsession  _ that led her around town searching for the history of Irene’s time, fervently and carefully pored over to have a glimpse of a time that held an ethereal beauty.

 

(A time where her heart’s story existed.)

 

And it was the hope of finally meeting Irene that drove her to do what she did right now, her adventure taking her back to the hotel that had united them in the first place. 

 

Wendy dressed in the suit she had ordered, with all the things of the  _ now _ removed from her sight, a recording of her voice reading out the history of the early twentieth century and its most celebrated actress placed neatly by her bedside table. 

 

She arranged her hair nicely and laid back, heart thumping almost out of her chest, the echoes of her heartbeat in her ears and the taste of desperation on her tongue, and she closed her eyes.

 

Wendy starting speaking in tandem to the recording inside her head.

 

All while fervently wishing that this will work. 

 

*

 

When she opened her eyes, the tape recorder had stopped playing and the day has long turned into night. 

 

A glance around her room confirmed the nagging feeling at the back of her mind, coupled with the headache that could only come from a fitful sleep that was too long.

 

She had failed.

 

*

 

Why?

 

How?

 

What happened?

 

Wendy trailed around the hotel aimlessly, a million questions running through her head. The suit, measured to fit and framed her petite body to perfection, felt like a straitjacket she couldn’t take off, the stiff collar forming phantom hands that pressed against her trachea. Her reflection on the less than perfect tiles of the walls showed a perfect twentieth century woman, albeit being partial to suits and not dressed up in flowy dresses and showy hair, her mind reeling with information from the time she wanted to be in. 

 

It was everything Joy had asked her to do and yet...

 

Wendy stopped walking, an overwhelming feeling of dejection bubbling from the pit of her stomach and swallowing the silent beats of hope from her heart, misery painting over the anticipation in her mind’s eye, black enough to hide the shred of light Wendy had gained from the visit to the scientist. 

 

She fisted her right hand and punched the wall, the cream coloured structure holding fast even as a sharp shot of pain blossomed at her knuckles and travelled up her arm. Barely acknowledging it, Wendy let out a breath, sharp and angry, enough to draw the attention of the other patrons of the hotel, each glancing over at her curiously, judgingly. 

 

Red swam in her vision, her newly cut bangs shuttering her vision as she bowed her head. 

 

“How- I did everything right...”

 

She punched the wall again, skin flushing scarlet from the rush of blood from broken vessels. 

 

“Miss, please don’t break the exhibit.”

 

Wendy whipped around at the reprimand, anger rushing out before the feeling of contrite before both were tampered down by the less than pleased look the staff was giving her. The other woman, a redhead just like Wendy, gave her a slight glare before making a wide sweeping motion at the same exhibit that had started Wendy’s journey, her mouth pulled down to a scowl.

 

“This is a very precious place, each memento painstakingly preserved and kept so the world can appreciate the history behind this hotel and the people associated with it. Please do not break anything.”

 

Wendy blinked, her fist leaving the wall she had been punching quickly once she realised it was actually a column that made the entrance of the museum. Flushing so hard that it seemed like her hair and her face were part of the same countenance, she bowed low, eyes darting to the name tag of the staff.

 

“I’m very sorry, Miss Kim, I did not realise.”

 

The woman did not seem to take her apology very well. Instead she scoffed and jerked her head towards a group of people already milling about in the museum, foreigners looking at the displays with varying amount of interest. 

 

“Just to avoid you taking out your self angst on another part of this fine establishment, join the tour. Maybe a little step into history will keep your deviance from destroying this place.”

 

If it was possible, Wendy flushed harder at the snipe, her feet following the petite woman towards the group, head lowered to avoid the stares of some of the tourists who found more interest in their guide scolding a hotel guest than the actual showcase.

 

The spitfire worker, whose scowl remained every time she glanced over at Wendy as though the writer was about to lose her head and break everything in sight, turned towards the patrons with a wide smile, bright and beautiful, enough to give Wendy whiplash at the suddenness of it. 

 

(Like an actress donning the robe of the character she was wearing. 

 

Like...

 

Wendy shook her head, a throbbing in her temple protesting against the similarity she had found.)

 

“Alright, revered guests! Time for the tour to start! Now if you’ll follow me...”

 

*

 

“- which led to this particular brain child brought in by the third owner-”

 

Wendy wandered off by herself, tuning out the explanations she had already known by heart in the course of her research (stalking) of Irene Bae and everything associated with her. She was more interested in the displays she had not seen, having rushed out the moment she discovered her connection with Irene, the imprint of her hand still resting by the side of the statue that she had nearly knocked over, small, demure, like the palm of a person resting a hand on a loved one. 

 

She glanced back up at the painting again, Irene’s eyes staring back down at her. 

 

A mere painting but one that exudes life that was missing from the other paintings. Her eyes, the colour of oak, seemed to speak of subtle sunrises, the hidden splashes of orange and red peeking out from behind dark trees and tall mountains. Her lips, red and pulled up slightly to make an awkward smile, seemed to spin tales of her life, each whispered within a breath of the wind.

 

Stories that Wendy was desperate to hear, fingers reaching out just beyond the rope that separated the painting of a goddess from her, a nobody who could only weave pictures with words. 

 

The dejection filled her chest again, pain radiating just from beneath her breastbone and Wendy had to turn away from Irene lest she lost it and broke down crying.

 

(Why?

 

_ Why didn’t it work? _ )

 

She put as much distance as she could between herself and Irene, forcing herself not to look back even as eyes pierced her from behind. Forcing herself to pay attention to other relics, Wendy glanced down to the glass displays, taking in several items preserved from the hotel before the revamp that Miss Kim was currently talking about. She walked past an old ink pot, blackened and dried out to a degraded fountain pen, the checkered exterior boasting of its beauty once. 

 

And paused at the log book that served as the hotel’s form of check in, eyes drawn to one of the insignia’s on the page. 

 

Wendy mouthed the letters silently, the dark tendrils of misery wafting away as rays of hope shone from behind dark clouds.

 

_ W.Son. _

 

To anyone else, it was just a signature.

 

To Wendy, it was the reason to stop questioning and just try again. 

 

Because this signature was her  _ own _ signature, thought out deeply when she became famous enough to warrant autographs, personally vetted by Seulgi who had wanted her to have a more  _ adult _ signature. 

 

Breathing in deeply, Wendy allowed herself to smile.

 

(And with that signature, she held onto the small ray of hope that blossomed in her chest.

 

And the knowledge that she will succeed.)

 

*

 

Wendy bustled around the room just like before, this time placing the recorder under her pillow instead of her bedside table. She clicked the play button and laid back, her voice slightly muffled but still audible. 

 

Heart thumping almost out of her chest, with the echoes of her heartbeat in her ears and the taste of desperation on her tongue, she closed her eyes.

 

This time, she held onto the belief that she will succeed.

 

Because she already had.

 

*

 

It was as though she was walking through a dream. 

 

Her eyes fluttered open, her vision slightly hazy even as she rubbed at them to get rid of the edges of sleep. Blinking, Wendy slowly got down from the bed, the beginning of a headache forming due to the nap she had taken and she tried to reorient herself. Almost bumping into the bedside table, the redhead tried to navigate her way through the room, her limbs sluggish and her tongue leaden, each step taking more energy than it should need.

 

But she forced her feet to move, heart thumping loudly as she tried to figure out her bearings. 

 

She passed by a grand looking hallway, not noticing that it was cleaner than before, shining in a way that could only mean that it was new to reach the lobby.

 

Excitement had her heart hostage, even as Wendy told herself that it might just be what it is.

 

A dream.

 

Holding a breath and forcing herself to calm down, Wendy turned towards the reception and walked as fast as her heavy limbs would allow her. 

 

The logbook sat innocently at the front counter, opened to a half filled page where beautiful calligraphy mingled with scratchy handwriting. 

 

On it, she found her name, the same signature that had embolden her to try again. 

 

Blinking, Wendy took in a deep breath and turned around, excitement slowly turning into disbelief even as she tried to find something else to convince her of her success. 

 

Her attention was immediately drawn to the museum, the exhibit still standing. 

 

But it was not the same.

 

Wendy knew of it to be grand and full, relics from a time where everyone wore suits and dresses and regarded each other politely even if they talked behind other people’s backs. The museum Wendy knew, traced with her fingers and lingered away at the painting of Irene Bae, was singing with life set in stone and colours. 

 

This museum was barren, the look a newborn child had, that child that was small and precious but would amount to great things. 

 

She walked towards it slowly, recognising the statue that she had almost knocked over placed at the entrance of the museum. Holding her breath, Wendy went closer to it, fingers brushing past the marble as she inspected it closely.

 

Air rushed from her mouth in a strong exhale as she found the surface to be clean, the mark she had made nowhere to be found on the statue. Wendy rounded the statue a few more times to make sure, each round causing the smile on her face to widen even more, until her cheeks ached with the exertion of muscles, her eyes blurring now from the onslaught of tears.

 

_ She did it _ .

 

Laughing, Wendy practically skipped away from the museum, leaden legs and blossoming headache forgotten as she took in the hotel in the early twentieth century, eyes taking in the many wonders that history and preserved showcases could never capture. Each step she took emboldened the belief and the happiness she had in succeeding in her mission, finally close enough to meet-

 

Wendy’s feet skidded to a stop when she caught sight of the stranger milling by the window, a young woman whose face was turned away from her, dress billowing at her legs as dainty fingers playing at the edge of the opened decorated pane of glass. 

 

Her heart slowed almost to a stop as the sound around her fell into a vacuum. 

 

Her mouth dried and her throat felt like it was closing.

 

Wendy swallowed tightly and tugged at her tie, eyes never leaving the woman. 

 

She knew that side profile, framed gently by black hair like a waterfall cascading down a beautiful scenery, knew the pouty pink lips, soft and comfortable like the arms of a pillow on a bad day.

 

She knew that glimmer behind dark eyes that spoke of mystery and questions, eyes that stared deep into your soul and convinced you of the love that was never felt, of angles and planes merely glimpsed from paintings and pictures long ago.

 

She had memorised the stories told from the quirk of a smile, of the trees and mountains shading a hidden sunrise, dreamt of the many ways the whispers that travelled with the wind will one day find their way to her.

 

Wendy knew this woman.

 

This woman, this ethereal beauty just standing there and looking out the window.

 

She has finally travelled back in time.

 

Because Irene, beautiful, mysterious, just out of reach, Irene Bae was standing right in front of her.

 

Without realising it, Wendy breathed out her name, soft, in reverence, the sound carried by the gentle atmosphere between a woman and the object of her affection.

 

“Irene...”

 

And against all odds, Irene turned around, hair as dark as the midnight sky that glittered with the slight shine of the stars. Her lips parted and Wendy caught a glimpse of the sunrise she had longed so much to see behind surprised brown eyes. A breath of a whisper escaped from Irene, fingers trailing up to her mouth as though trying to reel the words back in and Wendy could only keep staring even as the question escaped her.

 

“Is it you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's just pretend we have a year for when Irene was living in, alright? (I can't get the math to add up and it irks me so I'm leaving it vague.)


	4. Existence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She looked bedraggled and yet, was utterly beautiful in its momentary destruction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by Somewhere In Time, instigated by Kara and Lex

 

Having Irene right in front of her was like a dream.

 

Except that it wasn’t.

 

In a few steps, with soft eyes and puckered pink lips that seemed to seal a story behind them, with carefully combed hair and a few errant strands, Irene was right there for Wendy to reach out to. Her fingers twitched at her side, wanting to do just that but Wendy was unable to move. Her teeth gnashed together painfully as her eyes drank in the image of Irene as desperately as a dying man in the desert, holding, grasping at the mirage that Irene portrayed.

 

(And the doubts vanished into thin air, the thought of the _future_ lost in the gears of time and Wendy’s soft whisper.)

 

Irene looked at her with eyes as luminescent as the sun that was pouring through the open window, guarded but somehow managing to mirror the ache Wendy could feel at the back of her throat. Her lips parted slightly and the dark haired woman spoke again, voice lilting like a lyre, gentle and soothing, washing away the headache that had settled between Wendy’s temples.

 

“Are you the one I’m looking for?”

 

Wendy opened her mouth to answer, her right hand crawling up to her left breast pocket. The pocketwatch that rested underneath smooth silk comforted her, calming her nerves just enough for her to open her mouth and speak, words in a jumble.

 

“I - I hope - Maybe -”

 

A sharp voice cut through her attempt at an answer, followed by the appearance of a beautiful blonde, face angled just as sharp as her tone, with eyes less welcoming as compared to Irene’s. Wendy blinked owlishly as the blonde’s fingers wrapped around Irene’s wrist gently, a glare sent towards the redhead.

 

“Irene, I told you not to wander off!”

 

Eyes filled with molten gold left Wendy and the actress lowered her head, a delicate hand coming up to touch the grasp around her wrist, placating the irate blonde just enough for her eyes to soften.

 

“I’m sorry, Nana. I just wanted to take a closer look at the gardens.”

 

Nana, with a fond expression on her face, nodded with a resigned sigh, a careless smile playing on her lips.

 

(It was easy to tell that they were close.

 

 _But how close?_ )

 

“It’s fine - Just - just do it after the shoot, alright?”

 

A corner of Irene’s lips quirked up slightly (with it, the rate of Wendy’s pulse) and the black haired woman squeezed the gentle hold her wrist was in, leaning in close to answer.

 

(Why do they have to be so close?)

 

“Alright.”

 

Nana patted the hand on hers and started guiding Irene away from the window, chocolate pools sliding back over to the frozen Wendy. Instantly, the fire that had been doused by Irene’s touch reignited, brown turning deep red as she regarded Wendy like an enemy. Disconcerted, the redhead took a step back, her hands clasping over her heart in a fist. It earned her yet another stare, a clear warning behind porcelain beauty, lingering even as Nana turned away from Wendy, one arm coming around Irene’s shoulder protectively.

 

Her breath caught in her throat and the strings that made up her heart slowly started to unravel as Wendy watched Irene walk away from her, her reason for being here slowly disappearing.

 

And then-

 

And then Irene turned her head around slightly, looking back at Wendy with eyes that spoke of poetry and love, mouth parted to whisper words that carried across the silent hallway.

 

_(Are you the one meant for me?)_

 

*

 

Wendy spent the next hour smacking her head for her foolishness and her lack of action earlier.

 

Irene was just there.

 

She was _right there_.

 

And Wendy just stood there like a statue, words that she could craft and weave into stories that drove crowds into tears, laughter - words that were her _tools_ , her _playbox_ \- failed her as she stuttered away her chance like a fool.

 

She gave herself another face smack for good measure, letting the sting on both her cheeks ground her, hopefully jolt her brain back into its (former) glory.

 

Wendy had wasted one chance earlier but not anymore.

 

Irene was here for a shoot.

 

For how long, Wendy does not know. Nor did her vast knowledge on the history of one Irene Bae.

 

But she knew that Irene was still around.

 

And with that, a finite amount of chances to meet her.

 

(Talk to her.

 

Finally hear the whispers of her heart.)

 

And with renewed spirit, Wendy dusted off her pants and started walking.

 

(Each step following the steady tick, tick, tick of the pocket watch that started all of this.)

 

*

 

Wendy wandered around the hotel aimlessly, taking her time to peek into grand ballrooms and smaller meeting rooms, just in case Irene was holed up in one of those places. Her fingers wrung wrinkles into the material of her coat, nails sliding over the seams obsessively as she ran through her words, mixing and matching to form proper sentences, cohesive and intelligent conversation that would endear Irene towards her rather than alienate.

 

Barely registering her surroundings and running out of places to look (save for knocking on individual rooms), Wendy allowed her mind to wander and her feet to take charge, moving from the beautiful interior to its equally mesmerising outer gardens. The sun was warm on her skin, the gentle wind caress her face lightly, tendrils of it running through her hair and scratching her scalp, soothing the last of the headache away. Breathing in deeply, Wendy continued to traverse through the garden.

 

Around her, people were moving about. Sounds of laughter mingled with the soft coos of animals, the connection between man and nature blatant in the picturesque garden. Couples made up the majority of the patrons, Wendy watching as a pair passed by her with large smiles. The woman’s face was turned towards the man’s shoulder, a light blush dusting her cheeks as she giggled at whatever the man had said, her companion looking extremely proud of himself for coaxing a smile from the lady.

 

Moving away from them, Wendy continued her trek, moving closer and closer towards the lake.

 

The sound of water lapping onto the shore grew louder as Wendy came closer. A pier extended from land to almost quarter way of the lake, a line of small boats (meant for two) floating merrily by the side of it. A man in a flat hat was waving about, a cliched cane in his hand as he gestured for two people to enter one of it. Blinking, Wendy turned her head towards the middle of the lake.

 

A smile grew on her lips at the sight of boats lazily moving about, couples, families, people just enjoying their time.

 

It was peaceful and something that Wendy wanted to etch onto her brain.

 

(A moment of silence that was hard to come by in the future where money mattered and noise attracted.)

 

She sighed, allowing herself to immerse in the atmosphere, something she hadn’t been able to do since she first stepped foot into this timeline.

 

(How could she?

 

When all Wendy could think of was Irene?)

 

The redhead took in a deep breath, marvelling at how clean the air was, unable to stop herself from making a comparison to her time.

 

The moment she thought that, a sharp pain ran up her spine, fast and hard as though a bullet had passed through her body. Her vision flashed red and Wendy gasped loudly. The pain had her crumbling to her knees, a scream kept low behind clenched teeth. Breaths coming in short intervals, Wendy pulled at her collar roughly, causing the top button to snap off, her tie hanging loosely.

 

(God damn it.

 

What was happening?)

 

The red slowly ebbed away as her vision stopped swimming. Air flooded her airways, the lodged ball flittering away with each breath that she took. Clenching the ground beneath her, Wendy waited until the pain subsided, licking her chapped lips once to wet them, wincing at the taste of metal that greeted her tastebuds.

 

She must have bit her lips during her episode.

 

The redhead took a deep breath, only getting back on her feet when the action did not cause another spike of electricity up her spine. She brushed away the dirt from her hands to the best of her ability but they were still stained slightly.

 

(Very similar to that time at Joy’s house.)

 

“Are you doing alright?”

 

A soft voice cut through her haze, Wendy looking up to find Irene staring at her, brown eyes wide with concern.

 

Words that used to never fail her ran from her, Wendy opening and closing her mouth uselessly as she tried to answer. Finally she settled for merely nodding, relief spreading in her chest when Irene took it for an answer.

 

The actress continued to stare at her, right hand coming up to her left arm and grasping it tightly while Wendy frantically searched for a topic to talk about.

 

(A chance presented to her!

 

Please, brain, try to be at least a little bit functional.)

 

Due to her failure at trying to function as a normal human being in front of her (self proclaimed) goddess, it was Irene that continued the conversation, the dark haired lady tilting her head to one side. A smile was playing on her lips and the actress fluttered her eyelashes slightly, blush creeping onto her cheeks.

 

“If you’re feeling better, maybe we could get a boat ride?”

 

Swallowing with difficulty, Wendy made to answer in agreement, heart fluttering when her eyes met with Irene’s.

 

(And for a moment, it was as though she was privy to the secrets behind the setting sun.)

 

Only to have the complete opposite exit her mouth.

 

“Wouldn’t it be better to go with the blonde woman?”

 

Wishing very much for the ground to eat her up, Wendy pulled her gaze away, her eyes resting on delicate fingers and sinewy wrists.

 

(So, _so_ , thin.

 

It made Wendy’s heart ache to think that there were just some things that would never change.)

 

Her attention snapped back up when Irene chuckled, eyes widening at the sight of Irene extending a hand towards her. The ebony haired woman tilted her head again, gesturing towards the boats and spoke softly, fingers curled in quiet invitation.

 

“It would be. But Nana isn’t the one I wanted to get to know.”

 

It was as though time had stopped around her.

 

Wendy could hardly believe her ears.

 

As seconds ticked by, Wendy’s faculties finally ( _finally_ ) listened to her, dirt stained fingers reaching for porcelain smoothness.

 

(Irene did not seem to care about the stains, merely smiling a little wide at the acceptance.)

 

She grasped the offered hand like a lifeline, feeling a pulse of electricity - the good kind - run up her arm the moment smooth skin met with calloused hand. The curl of Irene’s fingers around hers felt like a treasure, held gently between the spaces of her heart, too afraid to even press her fingers in deeper lest she broke something.

 

Wendy drew up to Irene’s side and they walked towards the pier, footsteps matching each other, red hair mingling with black as the wind picked up slightly.

 

*

 

There was nothing but the sound of the water hitting the bottom of the boat.

 

Not that it was terrible.

 

As far as silences went, Wendy had to say that this was probably one of the most comfortable awkward silences she had been in.

 

Maybe it was Irene’s presence. The other woman seemed to emit a peaceful vibe, completely embodying her namesake. She also did not pressure Wendy into starting a conversation (despite having said that she had wanted to get to know the redhead), merely gazing out into the open water, one hand over the side of the boat, fingers drawing circles on the surface.

 

Still, despite not wanting to ruin the atmosphere, the quiet air crept under Wendy’s skin, burrowing and scratching the insides of her ears and digging deep down into her heart. Wind blew past them, caressing black strands and making them dance in the air, Irene tearing her gaze away from the water to tuck those errant strands behind her ear. She caught Wendy’s eye and Irene gave a small smile, Wendy blinking at the sight, heart racing in response.

 

Not wanting to look like an idiot who was about to hyperventilate because a girl whose beauty outranked the picturesque setting around her, Wendy started to hum, hoping that music would calm her frantically beating heart down.

 

A song she realised to be -

 

“That is a beautiful tune. What is it?”

 

Wendy opened her mouth to answer before realising that Irene wouldn’t recognise the song even if she did answer.

 

Because if her memory served right, this song had not been written yet.

 

( _Claire De Lune_.)

 

She swallowed her initial answer and responded softly, a curl of a smile at the corner of her lips as she observed the way sunlight painted the contours of Irene’s face, the actress nodding at the answer.

 

“I’m not sure of the name. But it’s my favourite song.”

 

Irene fell into another bout of silence, brow furrowed as though she was thinking hard. Wendy waited for a bit, eyes following the shadows that fell past eyes that swirled like molten gold, orange tinted rays kissing high cheekbones.

 

“I think-”

 

Irene started to speak before pausing again, Wendy leaning forward to hear her better.

 

(Soft, soft words from a gentle soul.

 

And something Wendy was finally witnessing firsthand.)

 

“I think that such a beautiful song could be my favourite too.”

 

Wendy digested the comment for a bit before leaning back, her lips pulling up into a smile that matched Irene’s.

 

“I think it could be too.”

 

(Wendy knew that it was.)

 

And - because music worked the same, be it the past or the future - that small opening started up genuine conversation, Wendy abandoning her chore of rowing the boat around to gesture wildly. She took pride in the way Irene had laughed at her antics, though she wished that Irene wouldn’t cover her mouth every time she did. It was a shame because Irene’s joy was easily one of the most beautiful things Wendy had seen.

 

(Wendy was a wordsmith, master of the language, creator of plays that brought tears of joy and sadness to people.

 

But there was nothing that would come close to how Irene’s happiness seemed to Wendy.)

 

The awkward atmosphere gave way to growing friendship (and maybe something...more? Wendy could only hope), cautious questions escalating to easy banter.

 

Wendy laughed again when Irene continued to mimic a co-star of hers, the beauty’s face pulled into a scowl as she spoke gruffly, completely in character as a stern man reprimanding a young worker.

 

“Was it you who replaced my bottle of water with dirt?”

 

Wendy wiped a tear that escaped from her eyes and giggled.

 

“Was it him?”

 

Irene dropped the character and grinned, placing a finger to her mouth.

 

“I can never tell.”

 

She winked outlandishly, sending Wendy into another fit of giggles.

 

They continued to amuse the other with stories, though Wendy was careful not to let anything slip, embellishing her stories to make it fit the current timeline.

 

Under the sky as their witness, Wendy was _finally able_  to do the things she had wanted to do, the reason for her struggles the past few months.

 

The whispers, the quirk of pink lips, the twinkling of a sunset behind brown eyes, it was everything Wendy wanted.

 

Laughter soon gave way to questions and Wendy asked the one thing that had been tickling at the back of her brain, mouth pursed and eyebrows pulled together at Irene’s mysterious smile.

 

“Just out of curiousity, what did you mean when you said ‘is it you’ when we first saw each other?”

 

Irene’s answer did not give anything away.

 

“Just something I want to keep in my heart for a while longer.”

 

There was a twinkle in Irene’s eye, playful and bright, like stars blanketed by a midnight sky and it was enough for Wendy to drop the subject. Instead, she drew her attention to the rest of Irene’s face, even if she had been staring at her the entire boat ride.

 

There was always something new to discover, an uncertain terrain that kept giving Wendy surprises.

 

(Like how there was just a hint of a dimple whenever Irene smiled widely.

 

Small things.

 

Little things that a painting could never capture.)

 

“Wendy, look, a koi fish!”

 

Wendy tore her gaze away to look at where Irene was pointing. Her lips parted to tease the other woman on her excitement before it became a shout, Wendy reaching over just a little too late as Irene tipped over in her eagerness.

 

“Irene, look out!”

 

Fingers grazed the back of velvet and Wendy watched in slow motion as Irene dived head first into the water. The force of her fall was just enough to tip the boat over, Wendy flailing miserably to keep balance but soon met the water as well.

 

Her brain went into overdrive but not for her own survival.

 

Instead, Wendy swam furiously to a rapidly descending Irene. She gripped at Irene’s forearms and pulled both of them to the surface. Air rushed back into their lungs the moment they broke surface, Irene coughing loudly by her ear as her arms came around Wendy’s neck.

 

The proximity would’ve caused Wendy’s brain to short circuit, if the redhead wasn’t so intent on keeping the both of their heads above water, a feat made infinitely harder by their clothes weighing them down.

 

Luckily, the dock master had been alert, already rowing towards them urgently, the brunette shouting at them.

 

“Just a little while longer! Hold on!”

 

A little while felt like an eternity to Wendy, her legs turning leaden from treading water. Her arms ached from trying to hold a trashing Irene, the black haired woman steadily getting more panicked the longer she was in the water.

 

Soon enough, strong arms pulled both of them into a boat and they were making it back to shore. Wendy pulled Irene closer to her, hoping to share body warmth, an act that Irene readily agreed to, her arms tightening around the redhead’s neck, face buried in the crook between collarbone and shoulder. Irene shivered in her arms, hair sticking to her face and make up running.

 

She looked bedraggled and yet, was utterly beautiful in its momentary destruction.

 

(Wendy had to stop herself from pressing a kiss, to make a mark on stained skin.)

 

Nana was waiting on the shore, the blonde looking absolutely livid. She gave Wendy a soul withering glare before turning to Irene, fingers prying the soaked actress away from Wendy.

 

“Irene! You could’ve died, I told you to wait for me-”

 

But Irene did not seem to register her manager’s nagging.

 

Instead, whilst shivering and with blue lips, Irene turned to Wendy, a smile on her lips and stars twinkling behind dark eyes, a whisper carried by the win to Wendy’s ears.

 

“It is you.”

 

And even though Wendy had no idea what it meant, the words settled in the nest she called her heart, warmth flooding  her from inside out.

 

(Shivers and pain forgotten.)

 

*

 

Wendy goes back to her room to dry off, all the while grinning manically at the progression on the first day itself. It was more than she had hoped for and it put an extra beat in her step, even as she was leaving footstep puddles on clean carpet.

 

So wrapped up in her joy, Wendy did not see the person heading towards her in a hurry.

 

Heads knocked together painfully, Wendy rearing backwards in response. Her arms spun in a circle to keep herself upright but she failed, falling to her back with a loud thump.

 

The other person, a woman, asked after her frantically, a hand waving in front of Wendy’s face.

 

“Oh my gosh! Are you alright? I am so sorry, I wasn’t looking -”

 

Wendy blinked rapidly when a face swam into her vision, brain not quite believing the sight in front of her.

 

“Yes- yes, I’m fine.”

 

Joy, the doctor she had gone to for advice, was standing right above her, though a lot younger than the version Wendy was used to. She blinked again, wondering if hallucinations were part of time travel, when Joy extended a hand out to pull Wendy up by the forearm, the taller woman heaving her easily.

 

“Are you sure you’re doing alright? You look like you have a concussion.”

 

Wendy shook her head mutely, mildly registering that she had stained Joy’s shirt, the mud that was caked on her palms transferred over to the blonde’s shirt. She reached out for the black mark, Joy looking down and shrugging, as easygoing as she was in the future.

 

“Ah, it’s to be expected, what with your hands looking like you went digging. Let’s call it even, since I bumped into you.”

 

Wendy nodded, still staring in wonderment at the other woman.

 

(Was this what Joy was talking about when she said she went back in time?)

 

The blonde coughed once and then raised her hand in a solemn goodbye, rushing off again as she shouted a goodbye over her shoulder.

 

“I have to go! I hope you don’t have a concussion!”

 

Wendy watched her go with her mouth wide open, blinking at the whirlwind that had quite literally knocked her off her feet.

 

When just another jolt of pain shot up her back, her vision swimming that familiar red which had greeted her by the lake.

 

And just like the time at the lake, it was all Wendy could do to not let out a scream, bracing herself against a wall and scratching on its surface for purchase as she waited the waves of agony out.

 

(And with that, her good mood was snuffed out, ecstasy replaced with more and more questions.)

 

*

 

Wendy pressed a hand over the coat and frowned at its currently damp state. Sighing, she left it over the chair to air dry, grateful that the rest of her clothes had dried by the time she had exited the shower.

 

(Thank god for cool air and a balcony.)

 

Rubbing a hand over her chest, just beneath her heart, where the ache from earlier had yet to leave her, Wendy picked up her tie, fingers running over the smooth material as she became lost in thought, questions layering over questions in her mind.

 

Joy’s appearance.

 

Irene’s mysterious words.

 

Her manager who seemed to hate Wendy.

 

The terrible episodes.

 

Shaking the image (and the ghostly claws of the anguish creeping up her back), Wendy looped the tie around her neck and started tying it, red hair falling in front of her eyes as she lowered her chin to make sure the knot was in place. Satisfied, she pulled on her boots and made for the door, eager to see how the night will end.

 

If she was here for the night at all.

 

(Does time travel end every night?

 

Does it end the moment she shut her eyes?

 

Was that why Joy was in such a hurry?

 

More questions with no answers.)

 

She made her way towards the lobby slowly, the part of her brain that was not filled with the thoughts of Irene marvelling at the architectural differences, highlighting just how far mankind had made it in terms of technology, and the similarities that gave the hotel the 20th century look. Drawing her fingers against the wall, Wendy memorised the bumps and ridges beneath her fingertips, physically imprinted the memories onto skin.

 

(Who knows what will happen next?)

 

By chance, when she reached the lobby, Wendy spotted Irene by the waiting area, the actress donning on a different dress. It was simple, as compared to her dress from the afternoon, but it did not diminish her beauty.

 

If anything, the simplicity of her garment only elevated her God given gifts, Irene looking surreal even just standing there.

 

The click of her boots echoed on marble flooring and it had Irene turning around, Wendy momentarily blinded when Irene shot her a wide smile, corners of her eyes crinkling, the stars blanketing dark skies shining in brown orbs. Returning the smile, Wendy came closer to the black haired woman, Irene clasping her hand in front of her in a clap.

 

“Oh good! You’re here! I was waiting for you.”

 

Quite sure that they did not have anything planned, Wendy could only look at Irene in confusion.

 

(Her heart, however, sped up slightly at the thought of Irene wanting to spend more time with her.)

 

Irene laughed at the question that was visible in Wendy’s eyes and waved a hand, gesturing towards the restaurant the hotel had to offer.

 

“I wanted to buy you dinner. To repay you saving my life.”

 

Wendy opened her mouth to protest, only to have Irene cut through, the black haired woman’s hand reaching for hers. Irene had grabbed her hand, practically dragging Wendy over to the restaurant, the redhead shaking her head in laughter at the sight of the actress’ excitement.

 

“Nana told me that their seafood was really good. We really must try!”

 

Though uncomfortable with the thought of Irene buying her dinner (Seulgi always said she was struck with some form of a gentleman’s disease), Wendy was unwilling to say anything.

 

Because the smile on Irene’s face was something she wanted to stare at forever.

 

*

 

“That pocketwatch you use is beautiful.”

 

Wendy’s hands paused, knife skinning a large tiger prawn midway.

 

(Dinner had been a peaceful affair, the ease from the afternoon’s boat ride present with a sense of deeper friendship.

 

After all, there were very little experiences you could share and couldn’t help being closer as a result.

 

And saving one’s life was one of those experiences.)

 

Wendy placed the utensils down gently, wracking her brain for a response. She decided to go a part of the truth, her fingers going to the breast pocket where her watch was partially visible.

 

“Thank you. It was a gift.”

 

Irene stared at the pocket for a while, as though burning the image of the timepiece onto the back of her eyelids before speaking up again, a hint of _something_ behind an innocent question.

 

“Who was it from?”

 

This was where Wendy had stalled for a moment, barely holding back the involuntary answer with a clench of her teeth.

 

( _You. It was you_.)

 

Instead, she tore an answer from the back of her throat, part truth and mostly obscure, panic colouring her tastebuds when Irene looked a little sad.

 

“Someone important to me.”

 

“I see.”

 

The conversation fell to silence predictably, Irene looking back down towards her food with a forlorn expression, Wendy scrambling to understand what exactly had taken place.

 

However, her confusion was put in the backburner for the time being, Wendy reaching for a random topic in order to draw a suddenly sullen Irene out of her shell. Her question had Irene looking back up, the dimming of starlight behind swirling pools of darkness, a dash of something Wendy can’t quite place swimming in the background.

 

“Maybe I could get an answer to my question earlier?”

 

Irene did not answer but the look in her eyes gave Wendy permission to continue.

 

“What did you mean by the ‘is it you’?”

 

Irene took her time chewing her food, dainty fingers arranging the cutlery neatly by the side of her plate. The actress dabbed at her lips with a napkin before answering, each word rolling off her tongue like honey off a spoon, sweet and thick, as though she was sharing something close to her heart.

 

(Wendy thought it might as well have been, considering the look in Irene’s eyes when she started to explain.)

 

“I met with someone. A ...fortune teller if you will. She told me that today, I will meet with someone that will change my life forever.”

 

Wendy abandoned her meal, mind swirling with thoughts.

 

“And you wondered if it was me?”

 

Irene laughed softly, scratching at the table top lightly with her nails.

 

“You were an unfamiliar face. I had hope.”

 

They fell back into silence, leaving Wendy to stew in slight disappointment.

 

(What did she expect?

 

They did, after all, only known each other for a day.

 

Heartfelt confessions wouldn’t happen in a day.)

 

“She was a little mysterious though, that fortune teller.”

 

Irene hummed, her eyes drawn towards a distance, as though reliving the time with the fortune teller.

 

Wendy questioned slowly, allowing her words to anchor Irene to the present.

 

“Mysterious how?”

 

Irene took a second to answer, her fingers tapping out an uneven rhythm against the white tablecloth.

 

“I didn’t even notice that she was there. And right after she told me that, she vanished. As though into thin air.”

 

A romantic at heart, Wendy wanted to believe that it was magic, _fate_ , that told Irene that, as to prepare her for Wendy’s presence.

 

Logic however, whispered a soft question into Wendy’s ears, starting a round of wonderment as to whether there were other time travellers, just undocumented.

 

She had no time to ponder on that theory though as Irene spoke again, this time attention on Wendy, a smile that reminded Wendy of song playing on her lips.

 

“It was odd because I never thought about it until she said that. But after that, I realised that I _have_ been waiting all my life for a change.”

 

There was a splash of sadness behind her voice, the tune that Irene’s smile brought to Wendy’s ears tinged with a slight sorrow.

 

It was enough for Wendy to reach over, ache in her chest and want on her lips, her fingertips the medium of her burning desire to _be_ that change in Irene’s life painting over Irene’s soft palm.

 

“If you would allow me to, could I be the one who makes a change in your life?”

 

Irene curled her fingers around Wendy, fingers brushing past Wendy’s knuckles softly.

 

“You have already started the gears in motion with our first meeting.”

 

Wendy felt shame flush her cheeks as she thought back to their first meeting. She shook her head and shook Irene’s hand, adamant on making Irene forget about her embarrassing demeanour.

 

“I did not give a very good impression when we first met-”

 

Irene laughed, cutting her argument off. Her eyes twinkled, playful but heavy, as though molten gold had turned into a masterpiece, her words searing straight onto Wendy’s heart, a tattoo indelible.

 

“It was an impression I’ll never forget. Because when I first saw you, hair like fire and eyes filled with the rush of flowing lava, I told myself if it was you, if you were the person she told me about-”

 

Molten gold met with burning lava and it was all Wendy could do to not shiver at Irene’s conviction.

  
“I’d have no regrets. Even if you burned me from the inside out.”


	5. Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What had started off as an obsession into the past, a thirst for answers to questions that had fallen into her lap, had turned into something deeper, rooting itself deep within the confines of her chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by Somewhere In Time, instigated by Kara and Lex

 

The path was shadowed by majestic trees, flowers painting the green like a rainbow, colourful and beautiful.

 

There were many ways Wendy could compare the beauty of nature around them with the woman she was currently with, with deep words that flowed like a river around the bend, twisted and manipulated so that Irene could be the centerpiece of the amazing sight in front of them. But she found her tongue leaden, almost a blasphemy to do so as she stared at Irene’s side profile, pale and elegant, exquisite in a way that nature could never compare.

 

She squeezed the hand in hers gently, memorising the way Irene’s hair fell past her shoulders when the older woman turned to look at her, a small smile playing on her lips as her eyebrow quirked up, question behind brown eyes. Shaking her head, Wendy merely looked away, content with just the image of Irene painted behind her eyelids. Beside her, Irene scoffed, a low sound that sounded more like a laugh than mocking, clasped hands turning into interlocked fingers easily.

 

They continued walking on in silence, allowing themselves to bask in each other’s presence until-

 

“I have to go soon.”

 

Irene whispered regretfully, their time together cut short due to work responsibilities.

 

Wendy knew of this and yet she can’t help the sudden intake of breath, a hand gripping around her heart at the thought of not seeing Irene, even if it was only for a few hours.

 

(Funny how Wendy had spent years without Irene but now, after being with Irene, can’t imagine anything less.)

 

Wendy released her hold, heart stuttering to a silent stopwatch, counting down the seconds till she can hold Irene’s hand again. She plastered a smile on her face, tilting her head to one side as she answered.

 

“I know.”

 

(Dating what was the equivalent of this time’s superstar was hard, even without the looks they were garnering, the whispers behind cupped hands and side looks.

 

But it was something Wendy had given in to, haven’t not known wanting as terrible as this.)

 

Irene stared at the space between them with something akin to sadness on her face before her onstage persona took over, a side smirk on pink lips, eyes shuttered carefully. She nodded and took a step away, hair falling past her shoulder like a waterfall.

 

(Like a painting that moved, beautiful and for the world to admire.)

 

The sight prompted Wendy to speak, to prolong the inevitable that was Irene walking away. Words fell from her lips without passing through her brain, out in the open before Wendy could even stop it.

 

“What are you doing this afternoon?”

 

The sun peeked from behind dark horizons as Irene pursed her lips, answering like she knew what Wendy was doing.

 

“Sitting in for a painting. They need it for the play’s promotions.”

 

An image flashed in the forefront of Wendy’s brain, of sloping jawline and a high nose and red lips that looked like it was dipped in love.

 

(She wondered.)

 

Spying an opportunity, Wendy reached out for Irene’s hand again, letting her touch seduce Irene into a false sense of security before she asked coyly.

 

“Could I sit in for it?”

 

Irene opened her mouth to protest but Wendy cut her words from forming by pressing her thumb to the corner of Irene’s lips, softly rubbing at smooth skin.

 

“Please?”

 

It was amazing, just how Irene’s words died at her tongue, eyes softening as she looked at Wendy. Her free hand came up and gripped Wendy’s wrist gently, thumb pressed at the redhead’s pulse. They stayed like that for a moment before Irene sighed, an amused smile on her lips.

 

“Alright. But you have to be quiet.”

 

Wendy put a finger to her lips and shot Irene a grin.

 

“As a mouse.”

 

Irene shook her head and together, they made their way back up the path and back towards the hotel.

 

*

 

Seulgi unlocked the door while whistling, her eyes curved up so much that she could barely see out of it.

 

But she can’t help it.

 

It wasn’t every day that genius came around and when it did, that it would be appreciated.

 

But appreciated it was, by a board of directors and sponsors, Wendy’s new play (to be edited) a hit amongst the people she had shown it to.

 

_“If we can get the full, edited script, we will go forward with this project, Seulgi! This is an amazing story!”_

 

_Seulgi grinned at the praise, inwardly passing the message on in her mind._

 

_“I’ll make sure the full script will be out soon, sir. You can count on it!”_

 

Seulgi swung the door open, dramatic in a way she wasn’t unless she was extremely excited. She called for Wendy loudly, the door shutting close behind her.

 

“Wendy! I have amazing news!”

 

The house greeted her with an eerie silence, quiet lacing every nook and cranny like an old friend.

 

Seulgi’s smile faltered slightly, her good mood hampered slightly by the gloom that seemed to seep out from between the tiles like sludge. Trudging through the house, Seulgi took in the mess with wide eyes, papers and books littered everywhere, desperation lining every single one of them.

 

(So uncharacteristic of an usually neat Wendy.)

 

An uneasy feeling thrummed through her veins and Seulgi started to toe around the papers. With each glance, the feeling continued to grow, the bottom of her stomach dropping as she read through the frantic scribblings and torn pages. The possibility of time travel and meeting - _finding_ \- a woman, repeated over and over again in ink smudged pages, _too_ many pages of despair.

 

_What has Wendy been doing?_

 

Seulgi dropped the latest of the pages, the one least smudged, the one that had a date and a place on it, the pieces of paper fluttering onto the floor even as Seulgi made her way out of the house hurriedly.

 

_What has Wendy been doing?_

 

She eventually found herself in front of a red bricked house, fenced with black grates and a demure postbox.

 

It looked normal, nothing that would be suspicious to Seulgi.

 

If it weren’t for the fact that there were blue smoke coming out from the windows.

 

Fearing the worst, Seulgi marched up the pathway determinedly, her arm raising to pound the front door when it opened abruptly. Greeting her was a middle aged blonde, eyes comically large behind science goggles and her hair askew. Seulgi had but a moment to breathe a sigh of relief at the lack of blood on the other woman’s body before letting her worry fester, grabbing the lapels of the mad scientist’s lab coat with both hands.

 

“Where’s Wendy?!”

 

The blonde seemed to blink extra slow behind the goggles.

 

“...who?”

 

Seulgi gave the blonde a little shake, intent on getting some answers.

 

“Wendy! She had your address on a piece of paper torn from a book about time travelling!”

 

The confusion behind the woman’s eyes cleared slightly and a slight smirk pulled the corner of her mouth up, sending chills up Seulgi’s spine.

 

The scientist’s words sent ice down the pit of her stomach.

 

“Well, it seems like that little one did it.”

 

*

 

Wendy stared unabashedly, mouth almost hanging open at the sight in front of her.

 

She knew Irene was beautiful, enough so that poets would weave sonnets about her.

 

But sitting here, in the silence of a room where a master of arts slowly brought a painting of Irene to life, it was the most beautiful Wendy had ever seen of Irene. It was Irene at her best, with high cheekbones and sloping jawline, sharp enough to cut. Her eyes, easily the most expressive part of her, spoke nothing but strength, molten gold shaped into stardust, glittering under the faint light the painter had insisted Irene be put under. Her hair, dark under the veil she was dressed in, fell like a waterfall of stars, a galaxy captured into the beauty of one person.

 

Wendy swallowed tightly and clenched her fists, a low gasp escaping from her lips when Irene adjusted her head slightly, somehow looking even more ethereal with such a slight adjustment.

 

The sound, though soft, was enough to capture Irene’s attention, eyes that held nothing but wonder behind them sliding over to her. Irene’s eyes softened at the sight of her, her lips almost quirking up into a smile, a smile that Wendy returned in full.

 

The artist exclaimed loudly, excited in his own quiet way.

 

“That’s it, Miss Bae, hold that expression! That is the exact expression I was aiming for.”

 

The painting was not finished yet but Wendy could already see it in her mind’s eye, the exact image that had her so enraptured in the first place. She continued smiling at Irene, almost laughing at the way the actress had to struggle to keep an almost smile, the shine behind her eyes showing the exact expression Irene wanted to show her.

 

They continued staring at each other, Wendy’s concentration only breaking when a low hiss came from behind her.

 

“You’re a distraction.”

 

Wendy whipped around hurriedly, heart leaping to her throat when she saw that Irene’s manager, Nana, was glaring at her. The blonde had her arms folded and a fire behind dark eyes, as though she wanted nothing more than to incinerate Wendy where she sat. Sucking her lips into her mouth, Wendy lowered her head, unsure if she was supposed to apologise.

 

(Though she was sure she had done nothing wrong.)

 

Nana’s eyes were still on her, heavy and dangerous before the feeling lifted, Wendy peeking through her bangs to see the tall woman stalked away silently. She moved to the opposite of where Wendy was sitting and positioned herself there.

 

There was clear warning in her eyes, enough so that Wendy could barely bring her eyes to meet with Irene’s.

 

The warning burned itself into Wendy’s back even as Irene made her way over, the other woman’s presence soothing over the scalding stare like a balm, the smile that had been forced behind a sullen expression now in full force.

 

It was enough for Wendy to forget about the warning aimed at her, her lips mirroring Irene’s as the redhead took the black haired woman’s hand into hers.

 

Irene leant in to whisper quietly, Wendy catching a whiff of a scent that was distinctly Irene.

 

“I would like you to come to my play tonight.”

 

Wendy nodded, slightly distracted by Irene’s closeness, holding on to enough sanity to murmur a question.

 

“Would it be interesting?”

 

Irene grinned, a small implosion of a star within a small room and she whispered quietly.

 

“I have something I want to say to you in front of people. Even if they would not understand the way you do.”

 

*

 

And then-

 

And then it was fast.

 

Like an inferno raging through a forest, the ocean’s wave breaking upon the sandy beach, it went by quickly.

 

It was as though Irene’s words had started off a race Wendy never knew she was in, exhilarating and blood pumping.

 

Wendy had never known anything like it.

 

What had started off as an obsession into the past, a thirst for answers to questions that had fallen into her lap, had turned into something deeper, rooting itself deep within the confines of her chest. Wendy found herself pushing forward for each moment with Irene, can’t have enough of the whispers that travelled with the wind and smiles that shone like the glittering reflection of the moon. Coy smiles and careless whispers that travelled with the wind soon became her world’s view, Wendy only falling deeper and deeper into the abyss that was Irene Bae.

 

It was only later that Wendy realised that she wasn’t alone in the abyss, that Irene was by her side, fingers intertwined with hers and a heart that marched along to the same beat.

 

It was only later, when Wendy was in a coveted VIP seat at Irene’s play that Wendy realised just how deep Irene’s feelings ran for her, with words woven with music and life and eyes that found Wendy’s effortlessly.

 

(Bright and beautiful, outshining even the stars that were plucked and placed directed into swirling darkness.)

 

“Forgive me, for it is a feeling that I’ve never lived with. It was then that I had failed to recognise you, you who had brought such joy and sweetness into my life.”

 

It was then that Wendy knew that there was no way out, that she would see this through to the bitter end.

 

(An ending she already knew.

 

But denial.

 

Denial was a love sick person’s best friend.)

 

Even if it was an obsession gone out of hand or whether this was a relationship like a forest fire, bright and strong and short-lived.

 

Irene’s lips curled into a smile and Wendy stared, fixated on the kiss lingering at the corner of her lips.

 

“There is so much to say to you. But I can only come up with these three words.”

 

Her heart sputtered to a stop as Irene uttered the three words she never thought she would hear, aloud to a crowd but only meant for one.

 

“I love you.”

 

*

 

Seulgi shifted uncomfortably in her seat, eyeing the crazy woman who had dragged her into the house without any warning. The woman in question, Joy, was muttering to herself, words coming out choppy and unclear, the blonde flitting around and grabbing things (seemingly) at random. Unable to keep watching Joy, Seulgi burst out loudly, hands flying up and waving, confusion lacing every word.

 

“What did you mean by Wendy did it?”

 

Joy glanced back at her briefly before turning her attention back to the -

 

 _Is that fire_?

 

“Holy Sh- Water!!”

 

Joy waved her off with an indolent hand, merely watching the fire in fascination. Seulgi sat there, half of her wanting nothing more than to bolt, the other half in trepidation, knowing for sure that Joy would answer her.

 

True to form, the weird woman answered casually, waving the burning piece of cloth above her head.

 

“I meant that the punk did it. She travelled back in time.”

 

Seulgi stared at her, even more confused than she was when she started the trip down the rabbit hole. She opened her mouth to speak but found herself screaming something different when she noticed something on top of Joy’s hair.

 

“Oh my god, _your hair's on fire!!!_ ”

 

*

 

The words rolled on her tongue, scalding like hot tea on a cold winter’s day.

 

Wendy held them behind gritted teeth and tightly closed lips, wanting nothing more than to reply Irene’s feelings in front of her.

 

But the actress was busy backstage, probably with press and other colleagues (it shouldn’t be all that different from what Wendy had experienced), leaving Wendy to wait by the door, bouncing on the balls of her feet, unable to stay still from all the nervous energy coursing through her body.

 

The door clicked open and Wendy straightened her body eagerly, a wide smile forming on her face as she anticipated the arrival of Irene. A stream of people filed out, backstage crew, ensemble; Wendy patiently filed away each of the strangers’ faces. She started bouncing again, fingers twisting the bottom of her coat nervously.

 

The smile on her face slid off when she came face to face with Nana. The blonde looked at her coldly before coming up to her, long fingers gripping her upper arm tightly. Wendy barely got the chance to protest when the tall woman dragged her away from the door, a hidden strength behind such a slight frame. Unable to twist away from the grip, Wendy could only follow Nana blindly, stumbling across the floor as the taller woman led them outside, the previously beautiful scenery slightly creepy in the glow of moonlight.

 

They stopped by a tree with falling flower petals, pink and red raining down around them in a blurring spiral.

 

Nana let go of her arm and whipped around quickly, not giving Wendy any time to recover. Her eyes were ablaze with fire and her mouth was set in a scowl. The veins in her neck were popping, as though she was using a great amount of effort to hold herself back.

 

(Wendy could see that she was, that it was taking everything Nana had not to lash out.)

 

The blonde took in a shaky breath before releasing it, a hiss escaping from behind pearly white teeth.

 

“I told you that you’re a distraction for Irene. Why aren’t you listening?”

 

A small fire ignited at the bottom of Wendy’s ribs and she took a step forward, chin raised and eyes wide.

 

“And why should I listen to you?”

 

Nana scoffed, eyes narrowing as her lips thinned out further.

 

“Because right now, she’s being reprimanded backstage for that stunt she pulled. A stunt she orchestrated because of _you_.”

 

Wendy stalled for a moment, her brain trying to catch up with the implication behind those words. Taking advantage of her silence, Nana pressed forward, her previously concealed ire bleeding out like a slowly breaking dam.

 

“Because of you, she risked everything to be _unprofessional_ on stage! Do you realise what this could do to her career?”

 

Wendy inhaled sharply.

 

(Irene risked everything she worked for just for _her_?)

 

Though Nana’s anger made sense, Wendy can’t bring herself to answer an affirmative.

 

(They were both in too deep, too immersed in this relationship that require so much sacrifice.)

 

“I love her.”

 

(If this was a story, Nana would be moved by her sincerity, realising her error and blessing their relationship.

 

But this wasn’t a story.)

 

Nana looked at her with contempt and bared her teeth, her hands balled into fists by her side.

 

“You _love_ her? You barely know her! You saw her by the window and got captivated like all the people who saw her on stage.”

 

Nana leant in close and whispered savagely, dragging out Wendy’s insecurities with sharp claws that drew deep cuts into her chest, engraved onto her weakly beating heart.

 

“It looks like obsession more than love to me. Do you even _know_ anything about Irene?”

 

 _Many things_.

 

Wendy opened her mouth to speak, only to have her words cut off by a sharp jolt of pain in her chest. A familiar burn spread through her chest and her lungs felt like they were straining against her ribs. She saw red behind her eyelids and her hearing dulled, as though she was swimming. Gasping, she bent over, trying desperately to regain her breath, one hand pounding at her chest, the other gripping her knee.

 

“-dy, Nana, what did you do- Wendy!”

 

Cold hands gripped her face and Wendy was pulled up to meet with Irene’s eyes, stardust mottled with red as the black haired woman questioned her worriedly.

 

“Wendy. Wendy! Can you hear me?”

 

Her head was spinning, like her vision, but Wendy tried to answer Irene, her words slurred and sluggish.

 

“Y-ye-yeah.”

 

Relief flooded through dark pools. Without lifting her hands from Wendy’s face, Irene turned back around to Nana, cradling Wendy’s head in the crook of her neck.

 

“Nana, what do you think you’re doing?”

 

The blonde raised her hand in defense, Wendy gaining enough consciousness to see the dirty look Nana was giving her.

 

“I didn’t do anything. We were just talking.”

 

Irene’s arm came around the redhead’s shoulders protectively, her heartbeat loud in Wendy’s ears, even through the vacuum.

 

“Didn’t look like just talking to me.”

 

There was a bite to Irene’s words, harsh in a way that did not suit her softness.

 

Nana seemed to have caught it as well, the blonde looking at Irene incredulously.

 

“You think I’m lying to you?”

 

There was an intake of breath and Irene pressed her chin into Wendy’s forehead, her words shaky. Wendy clutched at Irene’s dress, wanting Irene to stop but it was too late.

 

“I think that you never did like what I have with Wendy.”

 

There was a pause before Nana whispered viciously, a soft hum that was nearly lost in the wind around them.

 

“You barely even _know_ her! And you’re risking everything you’ve - _we’ve_ \- worked for - because of _her_?!”

 

Irene raised her chin away, just enough to glare at Nana but still let Wendy feel her warmth.

 

“I love her. It’s enough for me.”

 

“Does _she_ love you?”

 

At that, weak as she is, Wendy lifted her head, her voice cracking but audible.

 

“I love her. More than you could ever know.”

 

There was silence.

 

And then Nana threw her hands up, eyes shining brightly and her beautiful face twisted into something ugly.

 

“Fine. _Fine_. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Don’t come crying to me when the public finds out and you find yourself ostracized because of it.”

 

She stormed off, looking back at the pair of them one last time before disappearing into the darkness.

 

(Wendy thought she saw betrayal in her eyes.)

 

“Please don’t think too badly of Nana.”

 

Irene pulled away from Wendy, hands still holding the redhead up. She gazed at Wendy imploringly and apologised softly.

 

“I’m sorry but please don’t think too badly of her. She’s very confrontational and doesn’t think much about how others would conceive her.”

 

Wendy slid down to the ground, taking Irene with her as the both of them braced themselves against the tree. Tired yet curious, Wendy asked quietly, a hand coming up to hold Irene’s.

 

“Has she always been like that?”

 

Irene adjusted their position, her free hand wrapping around Wendy protectively.

 

“Always. It has... It has been the two of us for a while now. She gets protective. And I understand that, I understand that she feels like she has to be but...”

 

Irene trailed off, looking over to lake where Wendy and her first made a proper connection. Wendy could see that Irene was troubled by the fight she had with Nana, the stress of it drawn into every line of her body. Struggling slightly, Wendy sat up straight and took Irene’s chin delicately with her fingers, gazing straight into brown orbs that seemed to hold the world.

 

“Maybe we can have dinner together. Then maybe she won’t see me as someone who is a threat.”

 

Life filtered back into Irene’s eyes and the harshly drawn lines faded slightly. Irene looked at her curiously, worriedly and gripped Wendy’s wrist gently.

 

“You’d do that?”

 

Wendy chuckled, a low sticky sound escaping from her throat and nodded.

 

“It is nothing after what you did on stage.”

 

Irene blushed and looked away, Wendy laughing weakly at the sight.

 

They continued to talk softly under the cover of falling petals, the night passing by them without them realising.

 

(And Wendy realised with a jolt.

 

That yes, this was love.

 

And that maybe there are different sorts of love.)

 

*

 

Wendy closed her room door tightly, a ball at the pit of her stomach while nervousness took control of her throat.

 

(It is alright, Wendy.

 

Just be yourself.

 

Let Nana know that her feelings were true, despite how it looks.

 

It will be fine.)

 

She took in a deep breath, letting the air expand her lungs before letting it out, the act calming her racing mind.

 

It shouldn’t feel like it but it felt like the time Wendy had to meet with her ex’s parents.

 

Wendy laughed at the thought, shaking her head as she turned to walk.

 

Her foot cramped painfully and the familiar agony from before returned full force, gripping her throat and ripping out her spine. The agony and pressure from behind her eyes turned her head round and round and Wendy fell to the ground, temple connecting with the floor loudly. She groaned softly, fingers pressing against her stomach, her head, her eyes and she felt like she was about to explode.

 

(How?

 

 _Why_?)

 

Wendy tried to get up but found that her body wasn’t responding. Groaning again, she tried peeling her eyes open, her vision blurry and red.

 

And then a flash of blonde entered her vision.

 

She felt her body being picked up, her head rolling limply in the other person’s hold.

 

Before she passed out, she heard a soft voice whispering to her.

 

“I’m sorry. But I can’t have you ruining Irene.”


	6. The Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What turned out to be their first soon became their second, third - until there was nothing Wendy knew but the taste of Irene’s lips and the soft breaths that came when they parted before molding back together. She cradled Irene’s face gently, carefully, as though she was holding a fragile glass object and let herself memorise the way her skin felt beneath fingertips, emboldened by the fact that there were many (many) more to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by Somewhere In Time, instigated by Kara and Lex
> 
> Happy Belated Birthday, Kara! I'm sorry this was late and I hope the ending doesn't disappoint! :)

Lights flashed past closed lids, blinking and disappearing with every step Wendy felt the person holding her took. Her head rolled carelessly, her forehead knocking a bony shoulder painfully as she was adjusted in a grip that seemed too weak to be holding her up properly. Heavy breaths brushed past her sweaty brow, sticking and muddling her already fevered skin, Wendy wanting to nothing more than to push the person’s face away.

 

But Wendy could not open her mouth to protest as pain sealed her teeth together, her jaw locked and her body stiff even as she tried to return to the real world.

 

 _Let me go_.

 

 _Please_.

 

The burst of anguish that felt very much like a supernova caving into itself was still lodged between the spaces of Wendy’s ribs, digging in between her spine like nails on flesh. Her body was rigidly set in place, her fingers curled into her palms, her knees knocking into each other, the very picture of helplessness.

 

But still Wendy continued to fight, as useless as it may be, she continued to fight for control.

 

(If she could just get her fingers to uncurl, her arms to straighten -)

 

Her teeth finally parted, cracked lips splitting open just enough for Wendy to taste blood. Ignoring the metallic taste that greeted her, Wendy tried to speak, her tongue heavy and thick even as she murmured.

 

“W-wha are yo-”

 

A cold hand covered her mouth.

 

“Shhh. It’ll be over soon enough.”

 

The pressure around her mouth and nose was enough to knock her back into semi unconsciousness, her efforts on getting her body back wasted as her head rolled again, hanging over the stranger’s arm precariously.

 

 _Irene_.

 

*

 

She tapped her chin, a incomprehensible beat as she waited for her dinner companion. Her eyes drifted towards the window, hoping to find some entertainment to pass the time until the other person arrived.

 

Her eyes caught movement in the dark, a flash of red and gold distinctive enough to get her moving.

 

The chair scraped against marbled floor loudly but she could hardly care about the disturbance she was making.

 

Her napkin fluttered slowly to the ground, stark white against blemished pearl, black lines stretching out like the sands of time.

 

*

  


Seulgi pinched the bridge of her nose, eyes shut tightly as she tried to understand the situation she was in.

 

The older woman, Joy, the crazy scientist, was lounging in front of her like she was at the beach, her legs stretched out over the floor as she sipped her (suspicious) looking tea, her humming contributing to the headache that accompanied the buzzing in Seulgi’s ears. Letting out a breath, Seulgi starting speaking slowly, all while keeping her eyes shut.

 

(The less she saw, the less her head would hurt.)

 

“So let me get this straight -”

 

“Nothing is straight, everything travels in every direction.”

 

Ignoring the interruption (that didn’t make sense) like it never happened, Seulgi continued.

 

“Time travel is real.”

 

There was a pause before Joy answered.

 

“Well. It depends really. I mean, I’ve never been able to get the scientific community-”

 

Seulgi cut her off midway, not wanting to start another rant on how terribly close minded the scientific community was.

 

“And you’re the leading expert on time travel.”

 

The praise (ass-kissing) was enough to get Joy preening, her pride wafting off her in volumes.

 

“Well, I guess you could say that.”

 

Seulgi pursed her lips and released her hold on her nose.

 

“And because you’re the expert, Wendy came to you for advice.”

 

Joy hummed happily, loud slurping sounds accompanying them.

 

“Yep. Brat wanted to time travel.”

 

With this Seulgi opened her eyes, directing her disbelief towards the blonde who had now starting climbing on top of a stack of books.

 

“And because she came to you to learn how to time travel, you gave her advice, very _dodgy_ advice if you ask me, and encouraged her to do it?!”

 

Joy shrugged, looking more serious in the time Seulgi had spent in the older woman’s presence.

 

“She looked desperate, as though she was looking for something. And there was no guarantee that she could do it. All I did was give her a slight glimmer of hope.”

 

Joy waggled her fingers, her hands making an arch as she did so.  

 

“But the fact that she did it showed that I was right. Time travel does happen. What I did wasn’t a fluke.”

 

Seulgi let out a breath, shoving away thoughts of how Wendy, kind, dreamer, _sane_ , Wendy could be taken in so deeply by something like this, and reached forward, fingers curled towards Joy’s neck-

 

“Woah! No strangling!”

 

“I’m going to end you! How dare you use other people as experiments!”

 

“Hey, it wasn’t an experiment, I was just curious why she wanted to find that woman- ACK!”

 

“I’m going to ki- What woman!?”

 

*

 

Her eyes fluttered open slowly, the red receding for the dark skies to paint the back of her eyelids. Her lips, no longer stiff and rebellious, part to release puffs of mist, her teeth chattering against the cold. She tried moving, her head brushing against hard flooring, the hollow thumps sounding suspiciously like wood. The redhead struggled to sit up, her limbs weak from the last attack, the dropping temperature of the night freezing her joints just enough to hinder her movements.

 

“You’re awake.”

 

She turned her head towards the voice slowly, somehow not surprised to see Nana sitting opposite her, the blonde looking very ghostly in the moonlight. Taking her time, Wendy gathered her strength to speak, an arm braced across her chest protectively, the leaden ball within heavy and ticking.

 

“Wh-where did you take me?”

 

Nana didn’t answer, merely continued to stare at her. Compared to that afternoon’s eruption quite like a volcano, this was silent, deadly like the dark depths of unexplored ocean, Nana’s displeasure and anger simmering beneath the surface, just waiting for the right moment to pounce. Wendy flinched when the blonde stood up, graceful in a way corsets and hooped skirts could never hinder her.

 

“I just need you out of the way for a bit. Enough to dissuade Irene of the silly notion that her love is requited.”

 

Wendy blinked, her vision finally steadying enough for her to meet Nana’s eye.

 

“Why?”

 

Nana pursed her lips, a ripple of emotion passing through her beautiful face.

 

“Because you’re going to ruin her.”

 

Taking in a deep breath, Wendy tried to stand up, her knees shaking with the effort of keeping her upright.

 

“Is it because I’m a girl?”

  
  
  


Nana scoffed, surprising Wendy just enough to send her sliding halfway down the wall.

 

“Those relationships happen more often than you think. People are just more careful about it.”

 

There was no disgust in Nana’s voice, no judgement that would have been present in a conservative’s person’s eyes.

 

(Wendy trusted her words.

 

But-)

 

“Then why?”

 

Nana held her stare for a moment before dark brown shifted subtly, flashes of red interjecting with the calm darkness.

 

“Because you will destroy her. Inside and out. Irene will lose her sanity because of you.”

 

Nana started walking towards a door Wendy had not seen previously, heels clacking loudly against wood.

 

“And before that happens, I’ll stop it.”

 

Wendy pushed against the wall, hoping the momentum will give her enough leverage to stumble after Nana. The blonde paid her no attention, as though knowing that Wendy’s weak constitution wouldn’t let her reach the door in time, and wrenched the door open.

 

Only to completely freeze up at the sight of the visitor at the door.

 

*

 

Joy massaged her neck with both her hands, eyes narrowed towards Seulgi with hatred. Ignoring the dramatic scientist, Seulgi demanded for answers loudly, wanting to make sense of the journey that Wendy had taken in such a fevered manner.

 

“What woman did you say Wendy was looking for?”

 

The blonde shifted further away from her, perhaps wary of Seulgi’s grabby fingers.

 

“I don’t know who she is.”

 

Seulgi moved slightly, jolting Joy into answering quickly.

 

“I only found out about her in passing. The book Wendy brought to me as proof of time travel, _my_ book to be exact, was filled with writing that Wendy claims to be from a woman who said _she_ travelled back in time to meet. Wendy wanted to know if it was possible.”

 

Seulgi blinked once, twice and shook her head.

 

“That - that is not the Wendy I know.”

 

The Wendy she knew was logical despite being a dreamer. Wendy would never have gotten herself into such things without reason, plunge head first into something potentially dangerous just because some _woman_ wrote her name in a book -

 

“Funny thing though, the writings weren’t the deciding factor for me though. It was the edition of the book.”

 

Seulgi snapped back to reality, her voice raising enough for Joy to scoot further away.

 

(She supposed that she should apologise.

 

After digging enough information.)

 

“What do you mean?”

 

Joy spoke slowly, still eyeing her warily.

 

“It was the first edition, the first one I ever published. It’s no longer in circulation, since I published another two editions with updated texts-”

 

Seulgi could feel something click in her brain after Joy finished her sentence.

 

“I believed her because that book was a book that could’ve only been bought by someone from that time. And it was a long time ago.”

 

*

 

Irene, with eyes ablazing and her face set in the scariest expression Wendy had ever seen her make, was standing at the doorway, hand raised to pound. She glanced at Nana briefly before bypassing her, arms coming around Wendy in a familiar warmth. Sighing, Wendy relaxed into her embrace, the ache of her muscles and bones soothed from the slackened body.

 

“Nana, why are you doing this?”

 

The blonde didn’t turn around, choosing to look outside.

 

(Wendy saw that they were in the boathouse by the lake.

 

Suddenly the cold made sense.)

 

“Nana, answer me!”

 

Still the blonde remained stoic, one hand gripping the wooden door tightly, the other clenched by her side. Irene’s arms tightened around Wendy, the actress lowering Wendy to the ground, a similar position to that afternoon of confrontation.

 

Her volume dropped to a whisper, Irene pleaded with Nana again, a sob swirling at the back of her throat.

 

(Wendy reached up to cup the black haired woman’s chin, offering a pitiful amount of comfort in such an emotionally charged moment.)

 

“Nana, _please_.”

 

There was a tick, inaudible but loud in the imagination of all before Nana turned around, eyes weary and face sad.

 

“Because she’s going to destroy you, Irene.”

 

“Why do you keep saying that? What is it about Wendy that makes you think that?”

 

Clearly, it was a conversation that they had before, in the privacy of changing rooms and quiet theatre dinners, one that Irene did not take seriously until this happened to Wendy.

 

Strength returning to her limbs, Wendy sat up straight (with Irene’s help), catching Nana’s answer, as soft as it was.

 

(Heartbreakingly soft.)

 

“Because you look at her as though she holds the universe in her eyes.”

 

Understandably confused, Wendy opened her mouth to question, only to have Irene beat her to it.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

Nana let out a breath, her shoulders slumping, creating a broken sort of look through her usually upright body.

 

“What would happen to you if you lose that?”

 

Comprehension dawned on Wendy before the words registered in Irene’s brain, the redhead pushing away from Irene to answer resolutely.

 

“You will never have to worry about that. Because I won’t leave her.”

 

Nana’s eyes slid over to her, Wendy unable to pick out the emotions behind them and the blonde shook her head.

 

“You cannot guarantee that.”

 

Wendy made to retort when Irene beat her to it, the actress once again pleading with her manager.

 

“But she can guarantee my happiness.”

 

*

 

“Why are we at a hotel?”

 

Seulgi eyed the structure with a critical eye, mind playing back all the times Wendy was acting out of character, fevered and desperate despite trying very hard to hide it from her.

 

 _It all started when she was at this hotel_.

 

“Because this was the last place Wendy was at before she became obsessed with a phantom.”

 

Joy nodded at the explanation, trailing after Seulgi wordlessly.

 

Or rather, wordlessly for about two seconds.

 

“Wait. Then why am I here with you?”

 

Seulgi reached back with her right hand and grabbed Joy’s left ear, completely ignoring societal norms of respecting one’s elders.

 

“Because you’re one of the reasons why she’s missing. Now let’s go!”

 

*

 

 _Come back to me_.

 

*

 

“Happiness?”

 

Nana moved closer to them, the door swinging shut behind her once she let go of the wooden piece. Blonde hair fell into her eyes, shielding her exact emotions from the both of them, Irene bracing herself for a fight, Wendy shifting subtly to cover Irene.

 

(Two girls.

 

In love.

 

Star crossed.

 

Might not get that happy ending.)

 

“Yes. She makes me happy.”

 

Nana crossed her arms, curling in over them, as though shielding herself.

 

“And you weren’t happy before?”

 

Irene shook her head and moved away from Wendy, standing up to reach out to Nana.

 

“I was. Before. But Nana-”

 

Wendy stood up before Irene could even turn back for her, the redhead silent in her support by Irene’s shoulder.

 

“Don’t you ever feel like there’s always something more meant for you in life? Like you’re just existing and taking things as they come?”

 

Nana shook her head in reply, her eyes trained on the both of them unwaveringly.

 

Irene sucked in a breath, her fingers brushing past Nana’s dress’ sleeves, hooking at the ends of them delicately.

 

“I did. Until that fortune teller came and then Wendy came along-”

 

Her fingers gripped Nana’s hand tightly.

 

“Wendy came along and it felt like I was living. Truly living, Nana.”

 

Her other hand had found Wendy’s, intertwining their fingers together, warm against cold, the three of them connected through Irene.

 

“She makes me happy. And-”

 

Irene bowed her head down, peering beneath the bangs that were shielding Nana’s eyes (and feelings) away from them. There was a pause before the black haired woman pulled their joined hands up to her face, softly nuzzling the back of Nana’s hand with her cheek.

 

“And haven’t you always fought for my happiness? So it doesn’t make sense if you’re doing all these to take it away.”

 

There was a tense moment between them, stretched on long enough for Wendy to move again, putting her shoulder before Irene’s, their intertwined hands placed behind her. Weak as she was at the moment, she was willing to risk it to protect Irene, should Nana not see reason and went ballistic. She raised her chin, a subtle challenge against the silent blonde, Irene holding her breath behind her.

 

“Fine.”

 

The both of them blinked.

 

It was not the scathing answer Nana had given Irene under the fall of flower petals, a beautiful background to the end of a bitter argument. This was resigned, a reluctant agreement to an argument that she cannot refute.

 

They both released their breaths in sync, relief palpable in the tense atmosphere. Irene maneuvered around Wendy swiftly and hugged Nana tightly, her chin barely coming up to the taller woman’s shoulder. Tears laced her every word, gratitude woven together with hiccuping sentences.

 

(Throughout it all, their hands never broke grasp.)

 

“Thank you, Nana. _Thank you_.”

 

It took Nana a moment but she returned the hug stiffly, clearly not comfortable with the decision made but accepting it otherwise. She glanced over to Wendy, her message clear behind dark eyes. Nodding, Wendy tightened her grip around Irene’s hand, leaving Nana to turn her attention away, a warning falling past thin lips.

 

“I accept this. But she will be the downfall of your sanity, Irene.”

 

Irene, elated at Nana's blessing, only stood by Wendy, tall and proud, her lips curling into a beautiful smile.

 

(It was the smile Wendy longed to write sonnets and songs for.)

 

"If loving her would mean the loss of my mind, the destruction of myself from the inside out, I'll continue loving her over and over again. Because it would've meant that I lived a happy life."

 

Wendy could only gape at the resolution behind the words and follow up weakly with her own -

 

“I will keep her happy. You can count on that, Nana.”

 

Nana nodded and turned away quickly, steps loud against the wooden floor, leaving Wendy and Irene staring after her, eyes wide and hands twined, a force of two against one. She opened the door and held the crumbling structure gently, her chin lowered and shoulders slumped, her voice quiet over the night’s air.

 

“I hope for both your sakes that you’ll be happy for a very long time.”

 

She left soon after, the weight of her blessing setting Wendy’s heart afloat rather than weighing her down.

 

The door clicked shut and Irene squealed, throwing her arms around Wendy’s neck, the redhead stumbling backwards from the force of it, her weak knees buckling.

 

They did not care that they crashed to the ground, completely immersed in the other’s presence.

 

And the fact that they are allowed to be together without any other objections.

 

*

 

“I’m sorry, Ma’am, but I cannot give out personal information of our guests.”

 

Seulgi eyed the receptionist with a critical eye and jutted her lower lip out, her eyes growing as wide as they could to make it seem like she was cute without looking like she was trying too hard.

 

“But all I want to know is if Wendy Son is staying here.”

 

The brunette did not seem fazed by her display, only repeating herself with that chirpy customer service voice, the picture of professionalism marred slightly by that twitch of annoyance at the corner of her left eye.

 

“I’m sorry, Ma’am, but I cannot give out personal information of our guests.”

 

Sighing, Seulgi nodded in defeat and slinked away from the reception to where Joy was lounging, the scientist practically sliding off the sofa as she tried to read a brochure she had gotten from the tourist attraction’s rack. Slumping down beside the blonde, Seulgi blew air out from her pursed lips, watching the way her bangs floated. Joy, without taking her eyes off the upside down brochure, chirped mockingly.

 

“I told you so. You should listen to your elders.”

 

Not bothering to give a reply, Seulgi resisted the urge to flip her body upside down and hang her head over the edge of the sofa (they were after all in a public place) and looked around, despondent in her failure of a search -

 

“Did you know that this hotel features a museum? It’s about plays from the early twentieth century-”

 

Joy practically jumped out of her seat when Seulgi smacked the couch loudly, the older woman staring at the brunette incredulously as Seulgi jumped to her feet exclaiming loudly.

 

“Of course! The exhibition!”

 

Seulgi took off running, berating herself on her forgetfulness.

 

If there was any chance of learning whether Wendy was at the hotel, maybe the display that had inspired her latest play would hold some answers.

 

(Maybe Wendy spent enough time there for someone to remember her.)

 

“Hey, where are you going?”

 

Joy called after her loudly and again, was ignored as Seulgi veered left, almost crashing into a column by the entrance of the museum. Skidding to a stop, Seulgi’s face barely escaped the very painful connection between wall and human, her nose scraping past a black mark on an otherwise flawless structure. Falling, Seulgi met the floor with her back, her eyes staring directly into a scowl, the owner giving her a glare that could mean nightmares for days.

 

Scrambling to her feet, Seulgi started bowing, apologies spewing from her lips in hopes that the woman would stop trying to kill her with her eyes.

 

“I am so sorry, I did not mean to do that, I was just-”

 

“Seulgi, what are you doing - Holy Mother-”

 

Joy’s expletive was cut off when she crashed into Seulgi, the both of them tumbling safely past the column and into the exhibit. The carpet softened their fall but they still groaned in pain, Seulgi because Joy had landed on her, Joy because her nose collided painfully with Seulgi’s bony shoulder.

 

They would have stayed in that position, complaining about the pain if it weren’t for the lady coughing pointedly, an eyebrow raised in their direction and her arms crossed, foot tapping sharply against the floor.

 

Getting up quickly, Seulgi again started to apologise but the woman cut her off, her mouth set in a scowl and her head shaking.

 

“You kids have no respect for places of learning. First that redhead with her stained hands and terrible temper, now this kid without eyes-”

 

Seulgi grabbed her arm, stopping her tirade mid sentence. Her guilt at almost bulldozing down an expensive piece had all but evaporated at the mention of a redhead, a bubble of hope pushing past societal respect.

 

“Did you say a redhead?”

 

The brown haired lady was affronted but answered her question, albeit a little stiffly.

 

“Yes. She tried breaking the column with her fists, you can see the black stain over there.”

 

Seulgi leant in closer.

 

“Did she look anything like this?”

 

Pulling out her phone, she showed the lady her phone background, where Wendy and her were smiling cheekily into the camera, a souvenir from their latest success, both a little drunk and pliant to self taken photos. The lady took a cursory glance and her scowl deepened.

 

“I should have known that you’re friends with a delinquent.”

 

Seulgi’s grip tightened.

 

“Yes! Do you know if she’s staying here?”

 

The lady winced and shook her head, one hand coming up to break Seulgi’s grip.

 

“No. Now will you please let go of me?”

 

She pushed Seulgi away from her, an easy task considering how the brunette’s grip had slackened at the answer, and started massaging her upper arm. Seulgi stared at the ground, utterly at a loss of ideas on finding Wendy.

 

(In the midst of all these, Joy had started twirling on the spot, the scientist perhaps bored with the proceedings.)

 

“But if you want to find out, you could always look at the logbook at the entrance. Hotel guests are required to sign in, if only to keep track of who goes in and out of such an exhibit.”

 

Seulgi could kiss the lady for telling her that but Wendy came before gratitude and she practically dove for the ignored leather bound book, Joy sidestepping her lest they collided again.

 

Flipping through, she finally found Wendy’s name. She drew a line with her finger towards the ROOM column and noted the number -

 

“We have to find her quickly.”

 

Seulgi jolted into the air when Joy materialised next to her suddenly, the blonde staring at her with a hard expression on her face. Her previous boredom and mirth had all but evaporated and Seulgi was finally treated with a Joy that was serious.

 

However, that didn’t stop the curious question that fell from her lips.

 

“Wait, what, why?”

 

Joy’s eyebrows furrowed and she pointed at the DATE column.

 

“Because if Wendy really did travel back in time on this date, then her life is in grave danger.”

 

Seulgi looked down to where Joy was pointing.

 

And felt her stomach drop.

 

It has been a week since Wendy had (supposedly) time travelled.

 

*

 

Wendy could only laugh when Irene nuzzled her face into her shoulder yet again, the pair of them huddled together against the cold as they made their way back to the hotel. The older woman’s excitement was infectious, though it wasn’t like Wendy was any less ecstatic.

 

After all, it was not every day happy endings happened.

 

Irene hummed softly, her hand light against Wendy’s forearm.

 

“There is so many things we can do now. So many things to look forward to in the future.”

 

Wendy nodded, leading them up the beaten path, mindful of any obstacles that might trip Irene.

 

“Do you have anything in mind?”

 

“For now, just one thing.”

 

Irene held her back, the soft grip turning hard as she stopped Wendy from walking. Confused, Wendy turned to face the black haired woman, only to find Irene staring at her with an unexplainable expression on her face.

 

Her eyes were bright and her cheeks were flushed.

 

And when her eyes darted towards Wendy’s lips, the redhead understood.

 

Irene leant forward, head angled and she murmured softly, a soft reminder of Wendy’s decision in this.

 

“I have wanted this for a while. If you don’t, please speak up now.”

 

And then-

 

And then they finally shared their first kiss.

 

What turned out to be their first soon became their second, third - until there was nothing Wendy knew but the taste of Irene’s lips and the soft breaths that came when they parted before molding back together. She cradled Irene’s face gently, carefully, as though she was holding a fragile glass object and let herself memorise the way her skin felt beneath fingertips, emboldened by the fact that there were many (many) more to come.

 

It was an explosion of fireworks and eruption of volcanoes behind soft kisses and ardent desire.

 

They finally parted, Irene’s eyes curving up as she leant forward, her forehead resting against Wendy’s as she laughed.

 

“That’s one thing I’d like to keep doing in the future.”

 

Wendy hummed, unable to speak at the moment as her brain was still short circuiting.

 

(A chance encounter.

 

A lifetime of searching.

 

A happy ending.)

 

They continued their way back to the hotel, silent in the way couples were when they were so attuned with each other.

 

It was a future worth looking forward to.

 

*

 

“Lady, I really, _really_ need a key to her room.”

 

Seulgi was frantic now, scared after Joy’s Cliff Notes edition of what could (theoretically) happen to a person in prolonged hypnosis for (unproven) time travel.

 

(She could see Wendy wasting away in a room.

 

Her best friend.

 

Her partner in crime.)

 

The receptionist was as unrelenting as before, giving Seulgi the eye before rejecting her again.

 

“I’m sorry, Ma’am, but unless it’s an emergency-”

 

Joy cut past her, her voice clipped and authoritative.

 

“We have reason to believe that her friend is suicidal. It has been too long since we’ve been contacted while she was on this sabbatical of hers and if something really did happen, you wouldn’t want that on your conscience, right?”

 

Joy’s eyes were wide and her face was set as though in stone.

 

But it was enough for the receptionist as she started tapping on her keyboard, an eyebrow raised and her lips stretched in a thin line.

 

“I’ll accompany you to the room.”

 

Seulgi bounced on her toes, not really caring about anything but the key.

 

“Yeah, sure, whatever, just hurry please.”

 

*

 

 _I’ll find you_.

 

*

 

“What will you be doing after this?”

 

Wendy held the door open, allowing Irene to go in before answering, their hands finding each other again.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

Irene waited for the group of people passing by them to leave before speaking up again, red creeping up her cheeks like a setting sun upon the shore.

 

“I mean... I’m not going to be here for long and you’re obviously here for vacation. So after this, what is going to happen?”

 

 _What about our future_?

 

Wendy heard the query behind the query and she smiled softly at Irene, leaning in to press a kiss on Irene’s cheek.

 

“I’ll follow you. Wherever you may go.”

 

The actress giggled, obviously very pleased with the answer but she still held onto the doubt, squeezing Wendy’s hand tightly.

 

“I travel. A lot. For different plays and different acting gigs. I can’t possibly ask you to -”

 

Wendy put a finger to her lips, shushing her gently as they rounded towards the restaurant, half empty due to the time.

 

“You don’t have to. I’m looking out for my happiness, _both_ our happiness.”

 

Irene gave her a look, half worried, half smitten.

 

“It will be difficult. Especially since you have a job elsewhere.”

 

Wendy laughed, already looking forward to the future because the job Irene was worried about was intimately intertwined with Irene’s.

 

“Well, you don’t have to worry about that. In the future, I was a playwright. I’m sure they’ll hire me here.”

 

It wasn’t until Irene’s confusion was drawn onto her face that Wendy realised what she said.

 

*

 

“Wendy! Wendy, if you’re in there, open up!”

 

Seulgi pounded the door furiously, bypassing the doorbell by it and using her fists. She had hoped the thunderous sounds that had awoken the neighbours would rouse Wendy but it seemed futile as silence continued to greet them.

 

It went on long enough for the cold expression on the receptionist’s face to fade to concern, a crack in her professional veneer as she brushed past Seulgi.

 

“Miss, let me-”

 

Seulgi stepped aside for her to unlock the door, shoulder hitting Joy’s as they both waited for the click.

 

 _Click_.

 

*

 

Laboured breathing filled the cold room.

 

*

 

“Wendy, what-”

 

Realising her mistake, Wendy rushed to explain.

 

And then, the pain, her old friend, the consequence of thinking about her future when she was searching the past, finally caught up with her.

 

Her body locked as she seized, crumpling to the ground in a heap. Her head connected with the marble floor loudly, ears ringing from Irene’s screams. Red flashed in her vision and it was all she could see -

 

Red bleeding into her vision, tainting Irene’s porcelain skin, the curve of bowed lips, the frantic fear present in her eyes -

 

The agony gripped her throat and robbed her of her voice before taking away the strength she had recovered back at the boathouse. Her body was no longer her body and there was a fuzzy sort of quality to her surroundings, the same quality that had greeted her when she first arrived.

 

 _No_.

 

“Wendy! Wendy, what is happe- Wendy!”

 

Irene continued to scream, even as her hands tried to keep Wendy from hurting herself further. Fingers forced into her mouth separating her teeth lest she bit her tongue off and she was pushed onto her side, her body shaking and shivering in a seizure.

 

“Nana- Nana please, I don’t know what is happening-”

 

Nana’s voice joined the panicked screams, calm over the chaos as she commanded someone.

 

“Call for help! Hurry!!”

 

(Wendy can no longer feel her legs.)

 

“Nana, what is happening to her, her legs-”

 

Nana cut her off, soothing and quiet despite the fact that Wendy was seizing on the floor.

 

“It’s probably just a seizure-”

 

“Her legs are disappearing! This is not a seizure!!”

 

Cold hands cupped her face and Wendy was forced to look upon a mangled image of Irene’s face, her mind already breaking apart the image of the Irene she held dear to her heart.

 

“Wendy, please, stay, you can-”

 

Pushing past the rigidity and the numbness, Wendy grabbed the pocket watch in her breast pocket, shaky fingers almost dropping the object.

 

 _A last ditched attempt_.

 

She forced the watch into Irene’s hand, her nose buried into the older woman’s palm as she took in what must be last time she’ll ever have with Irene.

 

(Her hands, just moving earlier, felt like they were no longer connected to her body.)

 

With difficulty, Wendy fought for control, wrenching her mouth open and pushing past the pain and the taste of blood on her tongue, anything just to whisper, to talk to say three words.

 

“I’ll... find you...”

 

(Her heart.

 

She can’t hear her heart.)

 

Irene pressed her lips to her ears, her cheek, her mouth and whispered back in kind.

 

“Come back to me.”

 

And then it was a whisper of-

 

“I love you, Wendy.”

 

*

 

They burst in just in time to see Wendy wake up with a loud gasp, her body jolting up from the bed as though she was electrocuted. Seulgi barely had the time to take in the way she was dressed as well as the various bruises that littered past white skin (too white) when Joy pushed past her, catching the redhead just as she collapsed, eyes rolling to the back of her head, cloudy and scaring Seulgi.

 

Joy snapped at her, the blonde already placing Wendy on her back while she pressed an ear to her chest.

 

“Call for an ambulance!”

 

Seulgi fumbled for her phone while the receptionist ran out the door, shouting at the top of her voice about an emergency.

 

On the bed, Joy was already pumping Wendy’s chest, stopping every minute to administer two puffs of breath into Wendy’s mouth.

 

Seulgi watched as the emergency services chirped in her ear about the estimated time of arrival, watched as Joy continued to administer CPR, all while talking to Wendy.

 

"I've never seen anyone go back for so long. Whoever you were looking for must have been worth it."

 

Seulgi gripped her phone, willing herself not to curse at the woman who started all this.

 

(She might lose her best friend because of this.)

  
  


Wendy heard nothing, responded to nothing, not even the EMTs that arrived ten minutes later. Her airway was unobstructed and her breaths were coming in light but her heart did not seem to be beating, her pulse so weak that even a trained professional had trouble finding it.

 

They officially announced her to be in a coma three tests and several doctors later in the hospital, Seulgi watching in tears as the surgeon explained to her about the severity of her injuries.

 

“Several of her organs seemed to have sustained immense damage, seemingly from a car crash. Her bone density level is very low, comparable to an astronaut’s and she has little to no brain activity. Frankly, it’s a miracle she’s even alive.”

 

Seulgi turned away from the image of Wendy to grip the doctor’s arm, softly pleading with the man to save her best friend.

 

“Please, doctor, is there anything we can do? It can’t - _she’s so young_.”

 

The surgeon looked at her with pity and patted her hand.

 

“As it is, it will be up to Miss Son. We can only make it easier for her.”

 

Seulgi heard nothing else, only the soft beeping of monitors that told her best friend was alive.

 

But no longer with this world.

 

*

 

She flipped the pocketwatch close, hurrying down the street, coat billowing behind her.

 

Ah, she was late. Nana will have her head for this, she already said this was important-

 

A familiar tune reached her ears, a tune that she has not forgotten even though she has only ever heard it in passing.

 

_When will my head erase you?_

 

She stopped, completely forgetting Nana’s wrath for her tardiness and turned towards the source.

 

Irene found an old man by a music store, studiously taking care of a gramophone as he coaxed the ancient object to croon out the piece. She walked over slowly, seeing brief flashes of red at the back of her eyelids, stopping when she reached the store owner.

 

“Excuse me, but could you please tell me the name of this piece?”

 

The old man looked up and a wide smile broke out on his face. His hands waved around excitedly, clearly happy that someone was inquiring about music.

 

“Ah! It is but the latest from Monsieur Claude DeBussy.”

 

(The latest-

 

How did Wendy...)

 

“Really? It is beautiful!”

 

“Yes and with an apt name. _Claire De Lune_.”

 

Irene nodded, her eyes fixated on the gramophone, lost in her memories.

 

_A boat ride with two hearts intertwined as one._

 

“They said it was about a lost love.”

 

She pulled her gaze away from the phonograph and tilted her head to a side in question.

 

“A lost love?”

 

The old man nodded and caressed his music device lovingly.

 

“He apparently wrote this song a while ago but only had it published now because it no longer hurts him. Or at least, that was what the rumours said.”

 

His eyes twinkled and he leant in, whispering conspiratorially to Irene.

 

“But really, they said it was because he didn’t like the first draft’s composition.”

 

Irene blinked, watching the old man pull back and pat the gramophone

 

“Frankly, I like the first version better. It’s more romantic, don’t you think?”

 

Smiling, Irene could only feel a camaraderie with the old shopkeeper and she asked politely, the notes of a song she will never forget woven into her memories.

 

“Did the rumours say how he lost his love?”

 

The old man hummed, taking out a cloth to wipe the golden device.

 

“They said he lost his love to time.”

 

“Time”

 

He nodded his head again, a gentle bob that followed the croon of the song.

 

“Yes. They said his love disappeared so suddenly that it could have only been time that took her away.”

 

A sense of deja vu crept up Irene’s spine.

 

It was enough for her to open her mouth to ask.

 

(Maybe Wendy...)

 

“Sir, I would like a copy of this piece.”

 

*

 

“Is it real?”

 

Joy turned towards Seulgi, observing the way the younger woman’s spine seemed to have molded into the chair that was placed by Wendy’s heart monitor.

 

(She has not left Wendy’s side since admission.)

 

Humming, Joy had to prompt Seulgi further, curious to see where the woman was leading up to.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

Seulgi took in a deep breath, her face mournful as she continued to stare at her friend.

 

Her foolish, _foolish_ friend.

 

(Joy did warn her.)

 

“If time travel technically happened in your head, then is it real?”

 

She reached out to Wendy, hand hovering over skin covered bones, translucent under the hospital light.

 

“Did Wendy risk everything for a mere hallucination?”

 

Joy thought hard, not wanting to be flippant about this when the very real consequence of it laid before them.

 

(Of course it was real.

 

Joy had the scars and pain drawn into her flesh from her own experiences.)

 

“Well, think about it this way-”

 

She waited for Seulgi to look at her before continuing, hoping that the smile on her face was reassuring rather than callous.

 

“Just because something is in your head, doesn’t mean it is not real.”

 

Seulgi looked at her for a long time before turning back to Wendy, barely listening to the next part.

 

“If it made her happy, then it was very real to her. And that is what really matters, don’t you think?”

 

(And it was not something Seulgi could refute.

 

She couldn’t say anything because Wendy’s lips were curved into a smile.

 

Has been a smile since she fell into a coma.)

 

*

 

 _Someday in your memories, I’ll live in it_.

 

*

 

“Irene, please.”

 

Nana pleaded with her for the umpteenth time, the blonde’s fingers wrapped around a too thin wrist and trying to drag a despondent Irene from her “mourning”.

 

“Irene, she wouldn’t have wanted this.”

 

Irene shook her head, gripping onto the pocketwatch tightly, holding on to the last vestiges of a blurry memory with the one she truly loved.

 

(She never got to hear those three words.)

 

“Irene, please, this isn’t good for you-”

 

(But she will be the downfall of your sanity, Irene.)

 

She held onto that hope, digging her fingers into skin and drawing blood from her lips with her teeth. Her sanity had slipped away with her memories of Wendy, mixing and blurring until she could hear nothing but Wendy.

 

“ _Irene_.”

 

She finally turned her head towards her manager, dead eyes staring up to worried brown ones and intoned monotonously.

 

"She'll find me. And she'll come back to me."

 

In her mind’s eye, red hair mixed with black and it was all Irene could see.

 

*

 

_Someday in your memories, I’ll disappear._

 

*

 

Her eyes fluttered open, their movements slightly blocked by something white - from the feeling, a gauze or a bandage - slung across her face. Her body had molded against the soft mattress and her hand was tucked into a hold, a mop of black hair by her bedside. Blinking rapidly, Wendy tried moving her hand, murmuring out hoarsely for the lady’s name.

 

“Irene...”

 

The older woman woke up, face bleary at first before it twisted to happiness.

 

And then tears.

 

And then shouts.

 

“I hate you!”

 

Irene hit her on the arm hard, both laughing and crying as she continued to shout at Wendy.

 

“I thought you died!!”

 

The redhead in question could only laugh, weak but alive in her bed, pillows propping her up. In the corner, Nana was shaking her head at the both of them, her stoicism betrayed by the small smile playing on her lips.

 

Irene stopped hitting her, dropping her head to Wendy’s shoulder and continued to sob.

 

“I hate you so much! You scared me so badly! I thought I was going to lose you!”

 

Wendy laughed again, her hand reaching out for Irene and she croaked out hoarsely, murmuring her promise onto pale skin.

 

“I told you. I’ll follow you anywhere.”


End file.
